


The Most Useful of Them All

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Bellamort, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 03:39:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 105,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: "She may prove the most useful of them all, Voldemort thought, and he suddenly realised that it did not matter whether Bellatrix Black married Rodolphus Lestrange. Her devotion was obvious, and Voldemort intended on capitalising fully upon it. He would make Bellatrix Black his." HP and Cursed Child canon-compliant Bellamort tale spanning the decades of their relationship. Re-post.





	1. Chapter 1

**December 1968**

**Malfoy Manor**

Lord Voldemort loathed social gatherings, almost without exception. He had only ever utilised small talk for the purposes of manipulation, and there was no idea more repugnant to him than the thought of making merry in a large group. Just the same, he recognised the importance of socialising with his followers, at a distance that maintained his authority, to reinforce their loyalty.

And so, tonight, Voldemort found himself standing in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor, the home of his subordinate Abraxas Malfoy. Abraxas had begun following Voldemort back in their days as Hogwarts students, back when this powerful Dark wizard was just a boy called Tom. Voldemort had requested - or, perhaps he had demanded - the use of Malfoy Manor for a gathering of his followers to celebrate the Christmas holiday.

Abraxas had more than willingly obliged. The ballroom was bedecked with elegant, understated decorations that revealed the old wealth and social status of the Malfoy hosts. Swaths of burgundy, deep green, and gold silks had been strung expertly about the ballroom. A perfectly-shaped evergreen tree, lit with magical twinkling lights and ornamented with enchanted shimmering spheres, stood proudly in the centre of the room.

The food and drink were more than adequate, as well. A buffet table had been filled with dishes that magically refilled themselves. Goose, duck, and turkey had been roasted and laid out with sprigs of rosemary and other herbs. Potatoes and carrots lay beside warm, fresh rolls. The dessert table was an entirely separate orgasm of culinary delights. There was elf-made wine available, and ale and butterbeer and cider. Abraxas had done well, Voldemort thought. He had done justice to his master's orders.

"My Lord," Voldemort heard, and he turned his head to see that Conrad Yaxley had come up beside him. Yaxley staggered backward a little step at his master's sharp glare, and he bowed a bit, quite awkwardly. "My Lord," Yaxley said again, raising his pale eyes, "I thank you most heartily for the invitation to this joyous celebration. I wish to reaffirm to you my loyalty and my eternal service to you."

Voldemort suppressed the smirk that wanted to cross his lips. Instead he just nodded once, firmly, and said, "You are a good and faithful soldier for us, Yaxley. You have my gratitude and my faith. Now, go; they've just put out some new trifle on the dessert table."

Yaxley grinned widely, glad to have his master's approval, and he nodded as he darted away. Voldemort sighed deeply and looked around the ballroom. In the far corner, there was a gaggle of unmanned string instruments and gentle drums, enchanted to play music befitting the season. There was a bit of the floor space where people were dancing slowly to the Christmas tunes. Two young blondes swayed together with gawky, unpractised movements.

Now Voldemort made no effort at all to conceal his smirk. He recognised the blond boy at once. It was Abraxas' son Lucius, a fourth-year student at Hogwarts. His expensive velvet dress robes accentuated his height, and he towered over a girl who seemed just about his age. That girl wore a merry gold and scarlet dress, her icy blonde hair pulled up into a knot atop her head. Voldemort scanned his mind and put a name to the girl. Narcissa Black. The girl was staring up at Lucius Malfoy as though she were madly in love with him. Voldemort rolled his eyes a bit. What a very silly thing, he thought… to be in love at all, much less when they were still children.

Beyond the dancing blondes, a girl who shared some of Narcissa's facial features stood watching. There was a difference of several years, but the relationship was obvious. Sisters, Voldemort thought, and then he remembered another name. Bellatrix, the eldest daughter of Cygnus Black. He found himself staring at her, for a reason he was strangely unable to identify.

Bellatrix's hair was pulled loosely over one shoulder, falling in long, inky black curls. She was dressed far more provocatively than her sister Narcissa. Bellatrix wore a gown of black raw silk that sat off her shoulders with a low neckline, revealing her collarbone and hinting at the swell of her breasts. She was laced tightly into the gown, Voldemort could see, for her nipped-in waist gave way to a shapely skirt that cascaded around her. Her eyes, dark and cold, matched the passive frown upon her full lips.

"Is everything to your liking, My Lord?" asked a voice beside Voldemort, and he jolted back to reality and turned his attention away from the girl in the far corner. He curled up his lips at Abraxas Malfoy and said,

"You have done very well indeed, Abraxas. I am pleased that my friends and allies could assemble to get to know one another better, and so that we might have a positive rapport among the lot of us."

Abraxas looked relieved and shut his eyes as he smiled and nodded. "I am elated to hear of your satisfaction, My Lord."

"Your son Lucius seems to have quite the little love interest," Voldemort said in a teasing tone, and Abraxas chuckled as both men looked to the dance floor. A new song had begun, but Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy were still wrapped in one another's arms, laughing and chatting as they danced.

"They are both still so very young," Abraxas noted, "though I confess I would be not at all disappointed if my Lucius wound up marrying a daughter of the House of Black. It would be a truly advantageous match to maintain purity of the blood, would it not, My Lord?"

Abraxas looked rather nervously to Voldemort, who quirked up an eyebrow. He adjusted his own elaborately embroidered green and silver dress robes about him and took his time before speaking. "It would be a good match," he agreed. "And what of the sister? Bellatrix, is it? She is older."

"Too old for Lucius, perhaps," Abraxas shrugged. "She is in her final year at Hogwarts, I believe, but Abraxas is -"

"You misunderstood my question." Voldemort interrupted Abraxas in a low hiss of a voice, and he could feel Abraxas shudder with fear at the tone. Voldemort paused a moment to bore his gaze into Abraxas', and then he said, "You talk of matching up pureblood teenagers to preserve lines. Bellatrix. The girl is of age, is she not? What do you know of her marriage plans?"

Abraxas' mouth fell open, and for a moment he stammered uncertainly. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said,

"Close your mouth, Malfoy; you look like a fish. If you do not have the answer to my question, find me someone who does. I have a vested interest in the future of Britain's pureblood families. Go."

Abraxas nodded and dashed off. Voldemort watched silently, crossing his arms over his heavy robes. Abraxas was speaking with Cygnus Black, the father of the two girls in question. The conversation did not last long, and then Cygnus flicked his eyes toward Voldemort. The man's cheeks went scarlet the instant he saw that the Dark Lord was watching him, and he seemed to hesitate for a split second before following Abraxas Malfoy back to Voldemort.

The enchanted string instruments had struck up a lively dance tune, and so Abraxas had to raise his voice a bit as he breathlessly said, "My Lord… I'm sure you're familiar with Cygnus Black III."

"I am." Voldemort said pointedly, and Cygnus bowed deeply. When he stood, Voldemort jerked his chin toward the dance floor and the corner beyond. "Abraxas and I were just discussing what an advantageous match it would be for your daughter Narcissa to someday wed his son Lucius."

Cygnus Black's face lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. "I do hope such a thing might come to pass, My Lord. I believe it would serve not only to give the children happiness with one another, but to preserve pureblood family lines." He glanced over to his daughters and then back to Voldemort. His voice was proud as he said, "I beg you to rest assured of how important this cause is to me, My Lord. I've an elder daughter who's already promised to be wed, so that we might do our part in preserving bloodlines."

"Bellatrix, is it?" Voldemort asked, making his voice sound bored. Cygnus Black nodded more vigorously than ever, his chest puffing up with pride as he said,

"Just before his retirement, Headmaster Dippet said she was the most skilled spell caster he'd ever seen at Hogwarts… other than you, of course, My Lord."

"So she is good at throwing hexes and jinxes, is she?" Voldemort asked, sounding amused, and Cygnus' nervous laugh went on just a moment too long afterward. He cleared his throat and said,

"Bellatrix has always been… bold . And very willing to use whatever means necessary to achieve desired ends." Cygnus glanced back to Bellatrix, looking wistful, as though he were remembering her tumultuous childhood. But then he looked back to Voldemort and said, "She is utterly devoted to our cause, My Lord. After her graduation from Hogwarts at the end of this term, she will be married to Rodolphus Lestrange. I believe she will then beg you to allow her to serve you. She has spoken of little else whilst home for the holidays… she cares nothing about her impending graduation, nor her marriage to -"

"Rodolphus Lestrange," Voldemort repeated, cutting Cygnus off sharply. Abraxas shifted on his feet as Voldemort scanned the room for the boy. His eyes landed on a tall young man sipping a goblet of wine as he chatted with a small group of peers. That was him, Voldemort knew. Rodolphus Lestrange. He was of heritage just as noble as the Malfoys and the Blacks. Of course he would be a good match for a daughter of Cygnus Black III.

Rodolphus seemed quiet and subdued as he stood among the small group of young men. His dark auburn hair fell about his face, which was narrow and sharp. Voldemort flicked his eyes from Rodolphus Lestrange to Bellatrix, noting the great physical distance between them. Now he made a conscious point of smirking, and he asked Cygnus Black in a condescending tone,

"Are you quite certain your daughter is aware she is to marry Rodolphus Lestrange?"

Cygnus and Abraxas both looked quite uncomfortable, but Cygnus assured Voldemort, "I do believe, My Lord, that they will grow to appreciate one another's company with time. My own dear wife Druella and I… well, it was not immediate love, if you catch my meaning."

Voldemort did not catch the meaning, for he knew absolutely nothing of love, but he gave no indication of his ignorance on the matter. Instead, he noted calmly,

"You said that Bellatrix speaks often of serving me when she leaves Hogwarts."

Cygnus' eyes lit up again, and he nodded so fervently that it seemed his head might fall right off his shoulders. "Yes, My Lord," he said happily. "She does. Endlessly."

"Fetch her to me," Voldemort ordered smoothly. "I wish to speak with her."

"Yes, My Lord!" Cygnus said again, bowing quickly before setting off. Abraxas excused himself, and Cygnus practically sprinted across the ballroom until he reached his daughter. He wormed his way through the crowd of revellers, and at last the man seemed to be speaking frantically to Bellatrix.

Voldemort watched the frenetic exchange, and then Bellatrix's dark eyes rose and met his. A strange twist in his abdomen took him by surprise as he locked gazes with Bellatrix over such a distance. He pinched his lips and made himself look impatient. Bellatrix smoothed her skirts and walked briskly toward Voldemort, leaving her father behind. She walked with a straight back, with apparent confidence, Voldemort noted. But when she reached him and dipped into a reverential curtsy, Voldemort could see her hands shaking fiercely on the black fabric of her skirts.

"Bellatrix Black." Voldemort let her name roll off his tongue, rather liking the feel and sound of it. The smallest hint of a smile twitched at Bellatrix's full lips, and Voldemort could tell she was desperately trying to appear calm.

"My Lord," she said, though it came out in a cracked whisper. Her eyes glistened as though she were suppressing tears, and her bottom lip trembled.

This girl worshipped him. Voldemort could tell that instantly. The others in the room liked his ideas. They liked his plans. Most importantly, they feared him, so they followed him. But this girl, this Bellatrix… she adored him. She was very different than the rest of them. They were all here for their own self-promotion, or perhaps because they wanted to be part of a powerful movement.

Not this girl. Not Bellatrix Black. Voldemort knew nothing of love, but he could plainly read the veneration written across Bellatrix's face. He took a half step closer to her and heard her breath hitch a bit in her throat.

She may prove the most useful of them all, Voldemort thought, and he suddenly realised that it did not matter whether Bellatrix Black married Rodolphus Lestrange. Her devotion was obvious, and Voldemort intended on capitalising fully upon it. He would make Bellatrix Black his.

* * *

From far away, Lord Voldemort looked almost like a statue. He stood tall and thin and unmoving, his face rarely betraying any expression.

His face, too seemed carved from marble. He had milky white skin, an angular jaw, thin lips that stubbornly maintained a neutral line. He had eyes like Bella's, dark and rich as chocolate. But his had a way of piercing things and people. When she looked up from her conversation with her father, having been informed that the Dark Lord wished to speak with her, Bellatrix had met those eyes. And they had cut her straight through.

She had walked past Rodolphus, her future husband, without sparing him a glance. Her feet had moved entirely of their own accord, gliding quickly past the gaudy Christmas tree, past her little sister, past the food and the house-elves. Bellatrix had stopped just before him, just before the wizard she wanted so desperately to serve.

She had never wanted anything more in all her life than this , than to be standing here before him. She studied his face, the tiny shadow of stubble on his jaw and chin that revealed him to be an actual man and not a statue. She met his eyes and struggled to keep herself upright. Her eyes seared with tears, quite unexpectedly, after he said her name.

"Bellatrix Black," he'd said. That was all. But suddenly Bellatrix thought she might simply dissolve into a puddle before him. This was all very foolish, she knew. Bellatrix had always been hard of heart and solid of mind. But he was different than the rest of them. They were all tiresome and banal, but him …

"My Lord," Bellatrix had said, humiliated at the way her voice had come out in a croaking whisper. She stood a bit straighter and tried to look strong, tried to look powerful. Useful. "My father said you wished to speak with me."

"You've one term left at Hogwarts, have you?" Lord Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded quickly. Voldemort continued, "And after your graduation, you are to marry Rodolphus Lestrange."

Bellatrix felt her excitement evaporate, and she turned over her shoulder on instinct to stare at Rodolphus. He was handsome enough, but he was dull, and Bellatrix had nothing in common with him. She felt a dull buzz in her mind, and suddenly she realised her thoughts were being searched. She turned back to the Dark Lord, her eyes going wide as she felt his presence inside her head. Then there was a dizzying sort of suction as he pulled away, and Voldemort tipped his head as he said thoughtfully,

"You will be marrying to fulfill the expectations of your noble family. You do not actively dislike the boy, but you would not have chosen him for yourself."

Bellatrix felt her mouth drop open a little. All she could do was nod a bit, and she said softly, "I will marry him, My Lord, to help keep bloodlines pure. I will do as my family has asked of me. As you ask of me. Anything, My Lord, that you ask of me, I will do. Always. I will marry Rodolphus, of course, but I beg you to let me serve you. My only priority after Hogwarts, after all the silliness of school, would be to serve you, and..."

She was rambling now, she knew, but she could not keep the words from spilling out. She babbled uncontrollably, lost in the Dark Lord's cold eyes, in his sharply angled face. Finally, mercifully, he silenced her words with a gentle, non-verbal spell. Then something happened that made Bellatrix's breath stop entirely, made her heart race, and very nearly made her knees give out entirely.

He touched her.

The Dark Lord dragged his knuckles along Bellatrix's jaw, and she shivered as she struggled to keep her eyes open. His thin lips curled up a bit in the smallest hint of a smile, and he murmured in a voice so low that only Bellatrix could hear,

"Yes. You will marry Rodolphus Lestrange, to continue unity among the sacred and noble pureblood families."

His knuckles ghosted around Bellatrix's neck, and she stared directly into his icy dark eyes as he leaned toward her a bit and added,

"But you will do far more important things than marrying Rodolphus Lestrange, Bella."

Bellatrix was so dizzy she honestly thought she would lose consciousness. Bella . He'd called her Bella . Only Narcissa did that, and sometimes her father. It was a nickname Bellatrix did not allow others. But to hear him say it, to hear the Dark Lord say it, was almost intolerably exciting. He was still talking, though Bellatrix's head was spinning so wildly she could hardly listen.

"You will do great things for me, Bella. I can see it. I can see you as my most trusted, most loyal servant. Will that be so?"

Bellatrix managed a few quivering breaths and nodded before she whispered, "Yes. Of course, My Lord. I am yours in every way."

She meant that, too. There was an unexpected warmth, a sudden damp throbbing, between Bellatrix's legs. The Dark Lord pulled his hand from her face, and Bellatrix could not suppress the tiny whimper at the physical separation. Lord Voldemort looked immensely pleased with himself, and his smirk painted itself back onto his mouth. He looked beyond Bellatrix, his glistening eyes flicking about the ballroom.

"Do you know how to dance, Bella?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Bellatrix licked her dry lips and managed to say, "I am inelegant, My Lord, but I am passable."

His eyes returned to hers, and she suddenly realised just how much taller he was than her. For some reason, she liked that. She liked that her master and lord towered above her like a protective and terrifying wraith. The Dark Lord began to walk past Bellatrix, and she was quite confused until he said over his shoulder,

"Come. Dance with me."

* * *

Lord Voldemort loathed social gatherings, almost without exception.

And yet, here he was, his left hand holding Bellatrix Black's. He pressed his right hand to the small of her back and felt her fingers shaking upon his shoulder. They moved smoothly as the enchanted strings played "The First Nowell." Bellatrix was a bit unsteady, but Voldemort was more than capable of keeping their movements elegant.

Everyone was watching. He knew that. That was rather the point. Sometimes he wanted to seem completely inhuman to his followers. It would do no good for them to think he ever felt sadness, or grief, or any other weakening emotion. He kept his face stern and still most of the time. He kept distance, both socially and physically, from nearly everyone, and it was all on purpose.

But this was on purpose, too - the way he held Bellatrix a bit nearer to his body than the dance required. It was purposeful, the way he laced his fingers through hers instead of simply holding her hand. He wanted everyone, including Rodolphus Lestrange and Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black III, to see the way Bellatrix was staring at him. Voldemort wanted them all to see the wonder, the awe, the bliss in her wide eyes.

She was his now. She seemed intelligent, and was apparently an apt pupil at school. She was certainly obedient. And when Voldemort had used Legilimency to enter her mind, he had seen what she was capable of doing. She would steal for him, lay waste to entire cities for him if he asked. There was great and terrible darkness within her, as well. Bellatrix Black would kill for him, die for him. And she was already his; he didn't even have to recruit her.

So Lord Voldemort squeezed his fingers a bit at the small of Bellatrix's back and tightened his grip on her hand, knowing that all his minions could see. Let them see , he thought. Let them see how easily the great Lord Voldemort made others go weak and helpless with devotion. Let them see that Bellatrix Black might marry Rodolphus Lestrange, but that she already belonged to Voldemort.

"You dance perfectly well, Bella," he assured her, and she smiled weakly.

"Only because I have such a capable lead, My Lord," she said. Her eyes - lovely wide eyes, Voldemort thought again - flicked to her left, and she whispered carefully, "My fiancé seems less than impressed with our dancing, My Lord."

Voldemort's heart thumped for a moment until he willed it to slow again. He kept his eyes locked on Bellatrix's, though he could sense the jealousy roiling off Rodolphus Lestrange where he stood ogling. When Voldemort spoke, his voice was a dangerous hiss that left no room for discussion.

"Your fiancé will need to understand that his place as your husband will always be subordinate to my place as your lord and master."

Bellatrix nodded, looking positively euphoric. The song ended, and Voldemort released her hand and took a half step back from her. She gulped, and he could feel the want radiating from her. She didn't just admire him. She desired him.

Interesting , Voldemort thought. Decades earlier, when he'd been that boy called Tom, countless girls at Hogwarts had tried desperately to obtain and keep his attentions. He'd obliged a few of them, for his own pleasures, rutting a few girls in secret hiding places. It was always fast, emotionless. Just for release, and just for control. The years since had been devoted almost entirely to gaining and increasing his own power, and Voldemort had hardly taken any women at all in the past twenty years.

Would he take Bellatrix's body? Surely she would give it. She may well become emotional about such an experience, which posed a risk in itself. But for Voldemort, it would simple be an intriguing experiment. What, he wondered, would it feel like to order her to undress and watch her do it, her eyes shimmering with veneration? What would it feel like to have a woman climax specifically because it was him taking her? Would it feel any better or worse than the girls in the Hogwarts corridors or the Knockturn Alley whores of years past?

If he told her right this minute to go to one of Malfoy Manor's guest bedrooms, she would do it. If he shoved her hard onto her knees and demanded she use her mouth on him, she would moan while she did. What would that feel like, Voldemort wondered? What would it feel like to take the body of a woman who actually worshipped him?

He shut his eyes for a brief moment, feeling entirely foolish contemplating such a thing. He had no actual need for carnal release; he was far too powerful for that. He had an entire ballroom full of simpering sycophants; he did not need Bellatrix Black's body. Besides, he scolded himself, he would be turning forty-two in just a few days, and Bella was a mere seventeen years of age… not that he cared about societal standards on such things. And she was of age, despite the difference in…

_Stop these thoughts. Now,_  he ordered himself.

Voldemort's eyes sprang open. He steadied himself where he stood, seeing the way the top of Bellatrix's breasts heaved as she caught her breath. He tore his eyes from her and planted his gaze firmly on Abraxas Malfoy, who stood with Walden Macnair and Mullo Selwyn. The three were discussing something, pretending they hadn't just ogled their master, enthralled by the sight of the Dark Lord dancing with young Bellatrix Black.

"I've a few matters to discuss with that trio over there." Voldemort said to Bellatrix. He jerked his head toward Malfoy, Macnair, and Selwyn. Very much of its own accord, his hand went up to his brown hair, and his fingers raked through it.

No. He did not want her body. He simply did not. That was a foolish and demeaning proposition. He only wanted Bellatrix as a reliable servant, and he knew he would have that from her. But as Voldemort flicked his eyes back to Bellatrix, their gazes locked tightly. For some reason, Voldemort wanted back into her head, and he thought firmly, Legilimens. Her mind gave him no resistance, and he pushed his way right in.

Her thoughts were a swirling, confused mess. Voldemort searched for what she thought of him. Her mind practically screamed that she wanted to do his bidding, that she would never abandon him, that she wanted and needed to belong to him entirely. There were no vivid thoughts of Rodolphus Lestrange.

And then he stumbled on it, on a lustful thought that had come over Bellatrix whilst they'd been dancing. She'd felt his hand on her back and had wondered what it would be like to have that hand shove her roughly down onto a bed. She'd felt his fingers laced through hers and had wondered what they would feel like between her legs. She'd wondered whether he would ever let her sink to her knees, whether someday he might consider…

Voldemort wrenched himself from Bellatrix's head and staggered backward a half step. Bella's wide eyes went round as saucers, and she touched her fingers to her full lips as her eyes welled with tears. She was terrified. She thought she'd ruined everything with that fantasy, Voldemort knew. She started whispering frantic apologies, but he held up a hand and made his face hard as stone. Something else was getting hard, too, after feeling Bellatrix's lewd thoughts. Voldemort willed his body into submission and lowered his hand. He spoke quietly and calmly as he said to her, just as he'd done earlier,

"You will do great things for me, Bella."

Then, without another word, he strode briskly away from her, toward the cluster of servile men that bowed their heads as he approached. They would discuss matters of business, Voldemort decided, and with that he put Bellatrix Black entirely out of his thoughts.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was particularly quiet tonight, and Bellatrix relished the peace. She spread out a sheet of parchment before her on one of the tables and set up her quill and ink. She sighed lightly, glancing up to the windows that looked out on the Black Lake. There was nothing to see now that the sun had gone down. Sometimes Bellatrix wished she could go out into that icy water, just to see for herself what really dwelled in its most mysterious depths.

She read over the instructions Professor Slughorn had given for the homework he'd assigned. 'Choose a potions ingredient derived from an insect. Describe how it is harvested and its uses in two specific potions.'

Easy enough, Bellatrix thought. She was bright enough that she didn't even need a reference or book to finish this assignment. She quickly began to scribble in her characteristically frenetic script.

Many parts of the dragonfly are used for potion-making. The thorax of the dragonfly is its midsection, usually obtained after the wings and eyes are removed. It is generally crushed. The dragonfly thorax is an essential ingredient in a Girding Potion, which increases stamina. It is also part of most recipes for Dragon dung fertiliser, used to enhance the growth of magical plants.

There. That was that. Simple enough. Bellatrix blew on the ink to dry it, and then her face flew up when she heard the chair opposite her scuffing on the ground. She scowled, then erased the frown and neutralised her face, when she saw that Rodolphus Lestrange had pulled up the chair opposite her at the table. He folded his hands on the table as he sat. Bellatrix couldn't help comparing the look of them to the Dark Lord's hands. She remembered the feel of her master's fingers curled against hers, and she -

"Hello, Bella," Rodolphus said, his voice awkward and stilted. Now Bellatrix made no attempt to hide her scowl.

"Bellatrix, if you please," she corrected him, and he nodded. Bellatrix studied his bony face, his dull-coloured hair. He was an attractive enough boy, she supposed, but it was as the Dark Lord had said. Bellatrix wouldn't have chosen him for herself.

"Bellatrix," Rodolphus began again, in a low voice, "You and I are to be married in five months' time, and we scarcely know one another. Don't you think perhaps we ought to become better acquainted if we're to… to…"

"To have sex on a regular basis and produce lots of pureblood children together?" Bellatrix finished for him, throwing up one of her dark eyebrows as Rodolphus' pale cheeks went scarlet. He cleared his throat, and Bellatrix chuckled at his embarrassment. She rolled her eyes and said,

"Fine, then. What exactly are your plans for your life? I deserve to know what my husband will be doing with his time."

Rodolphus' face went very still, and he glanced about the common room before furtively leaning across the table. "I mean to do the same as you," he murmured. "I mean to serve the Dark Lord."

Bellatrix felt a little smile cross her lips. Suddenly she wasn't quite so resentful of the idea of marrying Rodolphus. Perhaps they would never love one another, but they just might make a fine pair of warriors for the Dark Lord.

On instinct, Bellatrix reached across the table and seized Rodolphus' hand. She turned it over and pushed up the sleeve of his school robe and shirt. She dragged her fingertips over his inner wrist, feeling Rodolphus shiver at the touch. Bellatrix met her intended's eyes and whispered solemnly,

"After you and I are married, will you ask him with me? To grant us the Dark Mark? To put us into his full service?"

Rodolphus nodded enthusiastically, gently pulling his hand away from Bellatrix. One corner of his lips turned up, and he said smoothly, "I do think you and I shall get along just fine, Bellatrix."

Suddenly there were footsteps to Bellatrix's left, and the boy called Stephen, the Slytherin Quidditch Team captain, came walking quickly into the common room. He approached the table where Bellatrix and Rodolphus sat. He nodded to Bellatrix and said matter-of-factly to Rodolphus,

"Lestrange, Hufflepuff's lost their normal Seeker to dragon pox. He's been admitted to St. Mungo's. They've replaced him, and their entire approach for this weekend will be different. We're having a team meeting in the seventh-year boys' dormitory to discuss strategy."

Rodolphus stood, straightening his robes and giving a pleasant little smile to Bellatrix. Rodolphus played Chaser for the Slytherin team, and though Bellatrix had no interest in the game, she said to him,

"Go. Plan. Can't have this house lose to Hufflepuff, of all idiots, can we?" Bellatrix smirked as the boys walked away toward the dormitories. Once they'd gone, she was left alone at the table again. She rolled up her parchment for Potions and tucked it into her school bag.

So her husband would serve the Dark Lord with her. That would be their life together.

Suddenly Bellatrix smiled, more sincerely than she'd done in a great long while.

* * *

Lord Voldemort paced the large office in Malfoy Manor that he'd claimed as his own. He paused his steps to glance outside the window, noting the way that little flurries of snow had begun to tumble from the heavens. It did not often snow in Wiltshire, but the weather today was especially bitter. Still, that was no excuse for Abraxas Malfoy's tardiness to the meeting that Voldemort had called. He paced slowly again, watching the flames in the fireplace as he did. Finally, he heard a solid rapping on the heavy office door, and he called sharply,

"Enter."

Abraxas Malfoy came dashing into the office, shoving his blond hair from his eyes and muttering apologies about his lateness. Voldemort waved his hand dismissively; he had neither time nor interest to listen to Abraxas simper. They were here to discuss the gradual but steady replacement of officials within the Ministry of Magic. If Lord Voldemort intended on a full-scale coup, he needed to begin by placing his loyal followers in positions of authority.

"So?" Voldemort said tersely to Abraxas. "What is the current situation?"

He sank into one of the great leather chairs before the fireplace and touched the tips of his long fingers together. He looked up at Abraxas, who shifted on his feet before the chair. Voldemort quite liked this - the way he could make others feel inferior and flustered even when they stood higher than him.

"Well, My Lord," Abraxas began, his voice nervous, "We have successfully placed seven of your most loyal followers into the Wizengamot. And then… a few low-level positions… head of the Department of Intoxicating Substances, for example, and…"

Voldemort narrowed his cold eyes and sneered, "I am not exactly concerned, Malfoy, with replacing the individual responsible for prosecuting improper alcohol consumption. What of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? The current department head, Laurence Mattle, has been Imperiused to resign, has he not?"

Abraxas shut his eyes for a moment and shook a bit where he stood. "Well, yes, My Lord," Abraxas said. "He was Imperiused. He is not Imperiused anymore, because nearly the entire battery of Aurors had grown extremely suspicious of his repeated statements that he wanted to resign and install Clarabella Rosier as his replacement."

"The Aurors were suspicious," Voldemort repeated, his voice so quiet even he could barely hear himself. He watched Abraxas' throat bob, and the other man nodded as his cheeks went pink.

'The Aurors successfully lifted the Imperius Curse from Laurence Mattle. We have placed Clarabella Rosier into protective hiding in the meantime, since -"

Abraxas' words were cut off then by the sound of glass shattering. Voldemort had flung his left hand up toward the mantle above the fireplace. He had, using non verbal and wandless rage, shattered the large cut-crystal vase that had been sitting on the mantle. Both Voldemort and Abraxas stared at the tiny shards of crystal on the rug, the remains of what had probably been a valuable Malfoy family heirloom.

"Malfoy," Voldemort snapped, and Abraxas raised his terrified eyes to his master. Voldemort curled his fingers over the arms of his chair and said firmly, "Obtain a list of every single Auror employed by the Ministry. Names. Dates of birth. Residences. Family members. Make a comprehensive database and distribute it to everyone who has the Dark Mark."

Abraxas nodded but looked a bit confused, so Voldemort tipped his head. Perhaps he hadn't been clear enough.

"Every Auror is to be killed. One by one. Unexpected places, at times that can't be anticipated. I want them dropping like flies, you understand?"

Abraxas' silvery eyebrows furrowed, and he asked, "So you wish for me to put out assassination orders for the entire fleet of Aurors, My Lord?"

Voldemort flew to his feet, stepping toward Abraxas. The soles of his boots crunched on the fragments of crystal as he hissed fiercely,

"I want every single Auror dead, Abraxas. I want to show the Ministry with whom the new power lies. Is there a problem?"

Abraxas' head shook vigorously, and he staggered backward a half step as Voldemort approached. "N-no, My Lord," he said. "No problem whatsoever. I shall compile and distribute the list at once."

"Go," Voldemort said, jerking his head toward the door. "Leave me."

Abraxas bowed so low he nearly tipped over, and then he scurried from the office like a frightened child. He closed the door carefully behind him, leaving Voldemort standing before the fireplace. He looked down at the pile of broken crystal again and pulled his wand from his robes. He Vanished the shattered vase into nonbeing, not knowing or caring what the significance of the original artefact had been.

Then he walked back over to the window and stared outside again. The sparse flurries had turned into a steady downpour of snow. Voldemort gazed for a time at the ground, at the way the snow was accumulating on the dormant grass of the immaculately manicured gardens.

For some inexplicable reason, his mind was invaded by the thought of Bellatrix Black. Voldemort frowned as his thoughts coalesced into the memory of her a few weeks earlier. He had seen straight into her mind, straight into her soul. There had been a violent undercurrent there; Bellatrix's blood was black in more than name, and there was wickedness in her spirit. Voldemort had seen it all for himself.

He'd seen other things, too, and those thoughts pushed their way into his consciousness, entirely unbidden. She had fantasized about Voldemort's fingers between her legs, about putting her mouth around his…

No.

Voldemort slammed his fist hard against the stone wall and growled to himself. Lust was natural, and sexual release could help one's mind become more sharp and focused. But this - these thoughts of her - were not helping Voldemort's focus.

She had adored him so ferociously. He had danced with her to cement their dynamic in front of everyone - in front of her father and her future husband, in front of the whole lot of sycophants that had gathered.

There had been something very pleasant about the way his hand had rested on the small of her back. There had been something comfortable, almost familiar, in the way their linked fingers had knitted together. There had been beauty in her wide, shining eyes and in her full, pouting lips. Her youthful chest, heaving a bit as it spilled over the neckline over her gown. Her dark curls where they cascaded over one shoulder. The sound of her voice, full of wonder and admiration.

Voldemort shut his eyes and willed his mind away from such base thoughts as those. There were more important issues at hand. He had seen her inherent darkness. He had felt what she was capable of doing. And he knew, to the very marrow of his bones, that she would do anything he asked of her.

If she was going to distract him, then she would make herself useful.

Voldemort whirled around to the desk and took out a sheet of parchment and a quill. He quickly wrote a few lines of text and then pulled out his wand, casting enchantments upon the letter to keep it secret and secure. He almost rang the bell on the wall to summon a house-elf, but then he looked out the window again at the snow. No owl would be able to fly to Hogwarts in this weather. It would have to wait. Voldemort dragged his thumb over the edge of the parchment, and he thought absently to himself that if Bella did as he commanded, there would be a reward for them both.

* * *

"But, Lucius, I don't want to freeze to death!" Narcissa giggled, playfully swatting the shoulder of the grinning boy beside her. Lucius tucked Narcissa's blonde hair behind her ear and said,

"Oh, come on, Cissy. It'll be fun. I'll build you a snowman and enchant him to dance for you. And if you're very cold, I shall keep you warm by the fire in the common room once we come back in."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and huffed out a disgusted sigh. She turned her attention away from where Narcissa and Lucius sat further down the bench, and she glanced to her right. Rodolphus Lestrange was sitting with his brother Rabastan and a few of their friends. Bellatrix was all alone, except for the bowl of porridge before her. She hardly minded; indeed, she preferred the solitude.

She spooned some of the hot porridge into her mouth, thinking it bland and tasteless. The food at the Malfoy Manor Christmas party had been quite good, she thought to herself. She'd never tasted a trifle quite so delicious as that night.

And then, of course, there had been him. The Dark Lord. The way his dark, shining eyes had bored into Bellatrix's as they'd danced. The feel of his hands on her. The sound of her name in his low, smooth voice.

Her thoughts were mercifully interrupted before they could flame out of control by a resounding screech. Bellatrix turned to see a few dozen owls sailing in through the window at the top of the Great Hall that had magically granted them entry. The owls began making their way to various students, delivering newspapers and letters and parcels. Bellatrix looked back to her porridge. She wasn't expecting any deliveries today.

But then she had to suppress a shriek, for an owl thumped abruptly onto the table, just inches away from her. It was a strange-looking bird, a dark striped owl with enormous, solid black eyes that seemed vaguely sinister. The bird pushed a small, folded parchment toward Bellatrix with its beak and soared away again. Bellatrix looked to her right, but Rodolphus was discussing something - probably Quidditch - with his friends. She looked to her left and saw that Narcissa and Lucius were still lost in one another's eyes. Furrowing her brows, Bellatrix picked up the parchment and turned it over.

There was an unmarked circle of green wax binding the parchment shut. When Bellatrix touched her fingers to the wax seal, it vibrated warmly and broke open. She realised at once that this letter, whatever it was, had been charmed to open only for her. Her fingers trembled a little as she unfurled the parchment, and then she gnawed her lip in confusion.

It was blank. There was no writing at all.

Then, all of a sudden, black ink began appearing, as though it were seeping straight out of the parchment itself. There wasn't much there, just a few lines of neat script. Bellatrix felt dizzy as she read the words.

The first great thing you will do for me, Bella. Madrigal Bones. You know what I need you to do.

Bellatrix read the words three times over, and then they sank back into the parchment until the paper was blank again. The parchment began to dissolve in Bellatrix's hands, flaking and vanishing into thin air until she was holding nothing at all.

Bellatrix's heart thudded and her mind whirled. She turned her eyes to the Hufflepuff table, where a cheery-faced girl with dirty blonde hair was laughing about something with another student. The round-faced girl with the dishwater hair was Madrigal Bones, a fifth-year student and the daughter of an Auror at the Ministry.

You know what I need to you to do, her master had said. Bellatrix did know. The Dark Lord was commanding her to kill Madrigal Bones, to send a message to the Aurors.

Perhaps someone with a clean soul and pure heart might have felt horror, or at least hesitation, at the order to murder a fellow student. But Bellatrix felt no compunction, only an excited acceleration of her heart at the idea of it all.

The first great thing you will do for me, Bella.

Bella. The first thing. Bellatrix's mind spun. Her lord and master had carefully crafted these orders to ensure secrecy. He had entrusted her with this important task. She was being given the chance to prove herself to the Dark Lord. She would not fail him.

Bellatrix rose from the dining bench, not caring one bit that she'd eaten only a single spoonful of porridge. As she walked quickly from the Hall, she passed Lucius and Narcissa. Let them go frolic in the snow and cuddle before a fire together, she thought. Let Rodolphus and his mates discuss Quidditch all day. Bellatrix had something far more important to do with the remainder of her Sunday.

She had a task to complete quickly and effectively. The entire rest of Bellatrix's day would be spent figuring out how to efficiently and secretly brew a lethal poison. She needed an ironclad plan to kill Madrigal Bones.

* * *

Hemlock.

It was a single ingredient that, when used on its own, could and would kill. There would be no need to surreptitiously thieve a gaggle of suspicious ingredients from Professor Slughorn's potions stores. Just a handful of the dried hemlock bits during a lesson, shoved into the pocket of Bellatrix's robes whilst she fetched the beetle eyes she needed for her actual work.

Madrigal Bones was quite fond of tea. Bellatrix had noticed this after carefully observing the girl at meals. Three mornings in a row, she had watched the Hufflepuff sip from a mug of tea during breakfast. Madrigal drank tea almost religiously. That would be the vessel for the poison, Bellatrix knew. Madrigal's tea. Bellatrix learnt Madrigal Bones' schedule by heart after trailing her for a few days, so that she knew exactly where the girl would be at any given time.

On the fourth morning after receiving her orders from the Dark Lord, Bellatrix locked herself into a disused storage room on the third floor. She lit the old lamp on the wall and pulled a small kettle from her school bag. She put it on the floor, pointed her wand at it, and whispered, "Aguamenti."

Water poured from her oddly bent wand into the kettle. Bellatrix kept her wand pointed at the old pewter vessel and murmured, "Coquesacqua." The water in the little kettle began to boil at once. Bellatrix knelt on the dusty stone floor and pulled out the handful of hemlock stems, seeds, and flowers she'd stowed in a little satchel. She dropped them into the kettle, and she listened to the ominous hiss as they sank into the boiling water. Bellatrix cast a few charms around the storage room to protect herself from any poisonous fumes, and she leaned against the wall as she waited. It seemed like an eternity, though it was probably only ten minutes, before the concoction seemed dark enough.

"Saporis Dulce," Bellatrix said, swirling her wand over the surface of the tea to sweeten flavour, which would be intolerably bitter.

She pulled a chipped mug from her school bag, one she'd snatched from the Great Hall and hadn't returned. She stared for a moment at the hemlock tea and remembered something she'd read in a book about the Muggle philosopher Socrates. He'd been forced to kill himself with hemlock tea. He'd probably had it coming, Bellatrix thought. Still, it was interesting to think how long this simple method of death had been employed by even the least magically-inclined.

She poured the steaming hemlock tea into the mug, dragging the pad of her thumb over its chipped edge. She thought about repairing the mug, but instead she pointed her wand at the kettle and Vanished it. She put her gloved hand around the handle of the hot mug and rose, clearing her throat and willing her heart to slow a bit. She was just down the corridor from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, in a spot free of portraits that might watch and report on what she was about to do. She had a three minute window of time, at maximum, to complete this act without being late to her own next lesson and still managing to catch Madrigal Bones on her own.

Bellatrix stepped out of the disused classroom, holding the mug of hemlock tea in her left hand and her wand in her right. She paced for a moment, feeling the winter wind blow in through the open cloisters, and then she saw Madrigal Bones come ambling merrily around the corner.

Bellatrix's bent wand raised steadily and pointed quite confidently at Madrigal, whose surprised eyes met Bellatrix's just as the Slytherin girl said confidently, "Confundo."

Madrigal shivered a bit where she stood and her eyes glassed over for a moment. Bellatrix smirked, knowing the difficult Confundus Charm had worked. She stalked over to Madrigal and said in a voice laced with artificial kindness,

"Hello, there, Madrigal. I have that tea you asked me to get for you." She held out the mug of hemlock tea to the Hufflepuff girl. Madrigal looked very confused for a moment, her eyes fluttering from the mug up to Bellatrix's face as she repeated quietly,

"The tea? But I don't recall -"

"This morning at breakfast. Remember?" Bellatrix said firmly, still trying to sound like she and Madrigal had been friends for years. Bellatrix laughed light-heartedly and said, "Because of the awful cold weather. Here you are. Just for you."

The Confundus Charm must have truly taken properly, for Bellatrix watched with immense satisfaction as Madrigal took the mug and smiled widely.

"Thank you, Bellatrix," she said, and Bellatrix's feigned smile faltered for a split second until she nearly barked,

"Drink the entire thing right now, won't you? You'll be so much warmer if you drink it all now, and then I can get rid of the mug for you so you're not late to Divination."

"Oh, yes. That makes sense," Madrigal nodded. She drank deeply from the mug of poison hemlock tea, her throat bobbing a few times as she gulped it down far more rapidly than one normally would do. Bellatrix watched, her fake smile morphing into a mirthful smirk. Once she'd drunk all of the tea, Madrigal handed the empty mug back to Bellatrix and smiled again.

"Thank you again so much," Madrigal said. "That was very kind of you."

"It was no problem at all," Bellatrix said sweetly. "Now, you'd best hurry to Divination so you're not tardy!"

Madrigal nodded and kept walking down the empty corridor. Bellatrix watched her for a few moments as she went, and then she pointed her wand at the mug and Vanished it. She raised her wand to Madrigal's back, and, just as the girl turned the corner, Bellatrix said, "Finite Incantatem."

Then she turned around and walked in the opposite direction. She had Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons of her own to attend.

* * *

"HOGWARTS STUDENT AND DAUGHTER OF AUROR DIES DURING DIVINATION LESSON! Impressive use of alliteration by the illustrious journalists of the Daily Prophet," Voldemort said, trying to contain his happiness at the headline. He was sitting at a long dining table in the Macnair household, where he'd called an early-morning meeting of a few select allies. Walden Macnair, Mullo Selwyn, Abraxas Malfoy, and Cygnus Black III sat in seats around the table, all of them watching with rapt attention as Lord Voldemort placed the copy of the Daily Propheton the table before him and read the article aloud.

"The Daily Prophet has received sad news from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A fifth-year student in Hufflepuff House, Madrigal Bones, perished halfway through her Divination lesson yesterday. Madrigal was the beloved daughter of esteemed Auror Sonata Bones.

Fabian Prewett, another student in the Divination lesson, said, 'Madrigal collapsed out of her chair and began having a fit… convulsions. Professor Droombeeld rushed over and began trying to help, and a few of the girls ran to alert the infirmary.'

His brother Gideon Prewett, also in the lesson at the time, added, 'Madrigal vomited all over the floor. She choked on the sick a bit, and then she went completely rigid. After that, she didn't move or breathe anymore. It was awful.'"

Voldemort paused and glanced around the table. The other wizards assembled did not seem fazed by the gory tale of Madrigal Bones' demise. Only Mullo Selwyn and Cygnus Black showed much expression, and they looked, if anything, rather pleased with the lurid details. Voldemort cleared his throat and continued,

"Madrigal's death was confirmed by Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who stated that preliminary tests indicated that the girl had been poisoned, likely by a substance containing hemlock. He asserted that the school would do all in its power and would work with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to solve what he called 'the vicious and unprovoked murder of a kind-hearted young lady.'

Members of the Bones family declined to comment, but Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Laurence Mattle confirmed that Sonata Bones was on bereavement leave from her Auror position. He expressed his sympathies to the Bones family and confirmed he would be working with Headmaster Dumbledore to solve the murder of Madrigal Bones."

Voldemort set the newspaper down upon the table and folded his hands neatly upon the wood. He waited, seeing which of his assembled servants would speak first.

"My Lord, would it be presumptuous of me to think that you have quite a powerful servant at work within the confines of Hogwarts?" asked Mullo Selwyn, and Voldemort smiled maliciously.

"Not presumptuous at all, Selwyn." He turned his face to Cygnus Black and said in a smooth tone, "I am extraordinarily proud of your daughter Bellatrix just now."

Suddenly Cygnus' face twisted through a rapid series of emotion. Shock, pride, fear, alarm, then back to pride. He finally smiled nervously and asked in a shaking voice,

"My Bellatrix did… did that for you, My Lord?"

"She did," Voldemort nodded. "She has already proven herself to be a most capable soldier. You are to contact Dumbledore immediately and state that there has been a family emergency which requires that Bellatrix come home for a few days. Go to Hogsmeade and fetch her from there. Bring her to Malfoy Manor tomorrow evening. I mean to reward your daughter in person."

Cygnus' mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. He nodded quickly and rose from his chair as he said, "With your leave, My Lord, I shall send an owl at once to Hogwarts."

"Go." Voldemort nodded. Just as Cygnus was leaving the room, Voldemort called after him, "I shall not soon forget this noble act by a member of the House of Black."

He heard Cygnus muttering some awestruck thanks, and then Voldemort turned back to the other wizards at the table.

"I think it safe to say a strong message has been sent to the Aurors," Abraxas Malfoy said confidently, but Voldemort tipped his head and said,

"One daughter of one Auror is not enough. The mission to eliminate them all continues. Combine sporadic assassinations of family members with the elimination of the Aurors themselves. Our message will be strong and clear. The power of the Ministry belongs entirely to me now."

Macnair nodded and said softly, "My Lord, I have reliable information telling me that the Auror Nebulus MacLachlan will be in London's East End tomorrow, looking for Clarabella Rosier."

"And is Clarabella Rosier in London's East End?" Voldemort asked sharply. Macnair shook his head.

"No, My Lord. We have her hidden in Wales at the moment. I had thought to intercept Nebulus MacLachlan and kill him myself."

"Good. Do it. Leave his body where it lies, but take his wand," Voldemort ordered, and Macnair nodded.

"Malfoy," Voldemort said crisply, meeting Abraxas' eyes, "I shall require comfortable quarters in your Manor for several days, beginning tonight."

"The entirety of my home is is yours, My Lord, whenever you will it," Abraxas said in a submissive tone. "If it pleases you, I shall have the suite adjacent to your office made ready at once."

Voldemort nodded and rose from his chair. The others did the same out of respect. Voldemort stepped away from the chair, and, without another word to his followers, he spun hard to his right and Disapparated with a whip-like crack.

* * *

Bellatrix Black had never been so nervous in all her life as she was just now. She wasn't certain quite why. Surely the Dark Lord would be pleased with her, for she had carried out his orders with efficiency and precision. But as she stood outside his closed office door in Malfoy Manor, her breath was uneven and her heart raced. She raised a shaking fist to knock upon the office door, rapping three times. She quickly smoothed her school skirt and straightened her green tie; she'd come here straight from Hogsmeade with her father. She cleared her throat and twisted her fingers together. The heavy wooden door creaked open of its own accord, or perhaps the Dark Lord had opened it with magic.

"Come in here, Bella," she heard him say, his voice like honey in the air. Bellatrix gulped hard and stepped over the threshold into his office. She heard the enormous door shut behind her, and then there was a quiet click of a lock. An abrupt sense of trepidation took Bellatrix over, until she saw him step out of the shadowy corner with a very pleased expression on his face.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, lowering her head out of respect. She shut her eyes, overcome with happiness to be in his presence again. Then she felt his long fingers on her jaw, pulling her face up until her eyes met his. She genuinely could not breathe then. His dark eyes usually cut like glass, but just now they seemed almost warm. Perhaps it was the reflection of the firelight in them. Bellatrix's breathlessness was not helped when his fingers cupped her cheek, when he dragged his thumb beneath her eye, when he murmured,

"What a very good girl you are."

Bellatrix felt tears rise to her eyes then. She felt a complete fool, standing here before him crying, but she simply could not help herself. The Dark Lord's thumb brushed away the lone tear that leaked onto Bellatrix's cheek, and he said in a silky voice,

"I sent you the most vague instructions imaginable, didn't I?"

Bellatrix finally found enough air to say, "I knew what you needed of me, My Lord."

"And you did it." He nodded, his hand gliding down Bellatrix's neck. She shivered as his knuckles grazed along her collarbone through the material of her white school shirt. He sounded very proud then, his eyes still locked on Bellatrix's, as he said, "The Prophet said it was poison. Hemlock. But there were no witnesses. They can investigate all they like, but they won't find anything out, will they? Because you were so very careful, weren't you?"

"I did try to be careful, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded frantically. She opened her mouth to explain how she'd planned everything, but she was rendered completely silent when Lord Voldemort lowered his face and put his ears next to Bellatrix's ear. He smelled like cedarwood and myrrh, Bellatrix realised. His breath was warm and his whisper intoxicating as he told her again,

"My very good girl. Soon enough you'll have the Dark Mark upon you, and I look forward to that day. Such a good girl, Bella."

He pulled himself up again, and Bellatrix swayed so precipitously where she stood that she thought for certain she was about to faint. She distantly realised she'd not eaten at all since that morning, and that had only been a tiny bit of porridge. The hunger, combined with the feel and sound and aroma of him… it was all too much. She closed her eyes and fought to stay upright. Then suddenly his hands were on her, steadying her firmly. One of his hands held fast to her shoulder, and the other pressed against the small of her back. Bellatrix was suddenly hurtled back to that Christmas party, right here in Malfoy Manor, when they'd danced. His hand had been right there, right at the small of her back. Just like this.

"Come and sit down," the Dark Lord said in a calm tone, and Bellatrix felt drunk as she was guided toward the sturdy chairs before the fire. She let him ease her into one of the chairs, and she stared at the flames in the fireplace to try and steady herself. She began to feel to rights again after a moment. He was just… overwhelming. It was as simple as that. She blinked rapidly a few times and forced herself to look at him again. He was standing beside the fireplace, looking content and comfortable as he dragged his fingers through his smooth black hair.

"Take off your robe and your jumper, Bella," he said, as if he were asking her to fetch him a quill. Bellatrix's lips fell open with surprise, but she immediately obeyed him. She would never question a command of his. Not ever. She shimmied out of her black school robe, and her fingers trembled as she rushed to unbutton the dark grey cardigan of her uniform. She heard him add,

"The tie and the shirt, as well."

Bellatrix raised her eyes to him, suddenly realising that he meant to see her without her clothes. There was an instant rush of wet heat between her legs at that thought, at the thought of baring herself to him. But she was self-conscious, as well. What if he did not like her without clothes to cover her flaws? Still, she obeyed. She loosened her green Slytherin tie and put it on the chair beside her with the cardigan and robe. Her fingers quivered more ferociously than ever as she opened up her shirt. She peeled it off, her mind whirling with uncertainty and her body throbbing.

"You are aroused," Lord Voldemort stated matter-of-factly from where he stood. Bellatrix looked up at him, resisting the urge to cover herself back up out of embarrassment. He was right, of course. She was sopping between her thighs and her mind was imagining all sorts of things she was only meant to do with Rodolphus once they'd been married.

"I…" Bellatrix began, but she wasn't sure what to say. She froze, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair, as the Dark Lord approached her. He reached down and glided his fingertips over the lace trimming of her satin bra.

"Pink," he noted, staring at the rose coloured garment. His thin lips quirked up a bit, and a low chuckle came from his chest as he told her, "I would not have guessed that you of all girls would wear pink under any circumstances, Bella."

"If My Lord does not care for the colour, I needn't wear it," Bellatrix said, suddenly emboldened by how her body screamed for him. His eyebrow quirked up with surprise at her gall, and Bellatrix smirked a little as she reached behind her back. Her fingers found the clasp, and she asked in a coquettish voice, "Shall I remove it, as well, My Lord?"

He licked his lips for a moment, and it was then that Bellatrix noticed the subtle scarlet patches on his high cheekbones. He cleared his throat and looked uncertain for a half-second, and Bellatrix realised that he was aroused, as well.

"No," he said sharply, and Bellatrix was startled by the tone in his voice. "Leave it on."

* * *

She had very nearly made him lose control, the little vixen. She'd been properly servile and tame when she'd come into his office. She'd almost fainted when he'd whispered in her ear. She'd stripped her clothes without question, and she had practically buzzed with unconcealed desire.

But then she'd gotten bold. He'd started by taunting her about the pink material of her brassiere, and she'd suddenly found the bravado to tease him right back. Holding her fingers at the clasp of that damned pink bra, the last scrap of fabric hiding her small but perfectly round breasts. And she'd teased him. Him. Lord Voldemort was not one to be teased.

So he'd denied himself the view of her breasts and had ordered her to keep the garment on. Now she sat in the armchair in just her skirt, socks, shoes, and that damned pink brassiere. Voldemort's cock ached beneath his robes, hard as stone and demanding attention. He may be the most powerful Dark Wizard who had ever lived, but he was still a man.

She had teased him. She needed to be put back into her place.

Voldemort reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. Bellatrix looked frightened for a moment, but he tipped his head and said reassuringly,

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bella. Quite the opposite. Summagaudens."

He angled her wand toward her with that last word, an incantation that brought on an instantaneous, overwhelming climax. Bellatrix's voice whimpered as she came unexpectedly. She cried out a few unintelligible, desperate syllables as the full force of the spell hit her. Her chin touched her chest for a moment as she gasped as though drowning. Then her head tipped back against the chair as she moaned and mewled, lost somewhere between pleading for more or mercy. Her fingers scratched and gripped at the arms of the chair as she tried to figure out what to do with her body. Her thighs pressed together and her legs twisted as she squirmed in the seat of her chair.

If Voldemort had meant to humiliate and punish Bellatrix with the spell… if he'd meant to put himself back into the position of dominance… he had failed miserably. It was too much, watching her react like this, knowing that she was clenching and throbbing down there, knowing that she was utterly overcome with pleasure that had come directly from him. His cock pushed so hard against the trousers beneath his robes that it almost hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to bend Bellatrix over the office desk and thrash into her from behind. She would like it, too. She would do this again, all on her own.

Finite Incantatem, Voldemort thought determinedly, and the magically-induced climax faded from Bellatrix's body. She shut her eyes, her rapid pulse visible on her neck as she trembled. Her breasts heaved as she finally found air. Her bare, flat stomach glistened a bit in the firelight. Her inky black curls were a mess around her face. Tears began to stream down her cheeks, spilling from her closed eyes, and for a moment Voldemort thought she would accuse him of assaulting her. Not that she would have any means of pursuing such a claim, but… still. She did not accuse Voldemort of anything, though. Instead she whispered in a dehydrated voice,

"Thank you. Thank you, My Lord."

If she did not leave now, he would not be able or willing to stop himself from truly claiming her body for his own. But Voldemort had plans for all that. Tonight was not the night she would feel him inside of her. So he said in the most bland voice he could manage,

"You have served me well, Bella. I am happy with how thoroughly and skillfully you obeyed my orders about Madrigal Bones. You will continue to serve me forever, won't you."

It wasn't a question. Bellatrix finally opened her eyes, swiping tears away as she nodded and whispered, "Of course I will, My Lord."

"Get yourself dressed and go home with your father. Return to Hogwarts tomorrow. If I have further need of your service before the end of term, you shall hear from me. Go."

He did not watch Bellatrix put herself to rights. Instead he sat the desk and opened the Daily Prophet, pretending to read a mundane article about upcoming eligibility changes for professional Quidditch players. He pretended not to see Bellatrix standing near the door, her school uniform back on but her face still flushed a dusky pink. The very same color as her…

No.

He ordered himself not to have such a ferocious carnal desire for the girl. Bellatrix paused with her hand on the door and said in a voice filled with awe and wonder,

"Goodnight, My Lord."

"Goodnight, Bella."

He should have used her full name, he thought angrily as she left. He should have called her 'Bellatrix,' or even 'Miss Black.' He should not have called her 'Bella." Not after toying with her body the way he'd done. It would only give her ideas.

Of course, nothing bad could come of her being infatuated with him. She had truly done an impressive job of killing Madrigal Bones without leaving a trace. Voldemort had tested Bellatrix. He had tested her loyalty and her skill, and she had more than proven herself on both fronts.

She had smelled like the darkest of roses. When he'd put his lips to her ear, he'd smelled her and felt the heat coming from her skin. She'd writhed around when he'd made her finish in the chair, when he'd taken her body by surprise with his spell. She'd squirmed and moaned, her fingers clenching and her milky skin…

No. No, no, no.

Voldemort whipped his right hand up and slashed his fingers downward roughly. On the wall, a painting of dahlias in a vase slashed apart as though an animal's claws had attacked its canvas. Voldemort stared at the ruined painting, remembering the way he'd broken the heirloom crystal vase in this office just a few days earlier. He couldn't go about destroying Malfoy Manor if he was to demand unfettered access to it. He raised his yew wand and muttered, "Reparo." The painting of the dahlias mended itself quickly, the slashes in the canvas knitting so that there was no evidence of any damage.

Voldemort slammed his wand down on his desk and closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. He was still hard; his body still wanted hers. He could use a charm easily enough to erase his arousal. Or, taking the opposite approach, he could unbutton his trousers and finish himself off right here with his hand, remembering the sight of Bellatrix in the chair.

He did neither of those things. Instead he opened his eyes, sighed deeply, and picked up the Daily Prophet again. He started at the beginning of the article he'd been pretending to read before. This time he forced his mind to pay attention to every word, trying to trick himself into caring about new height and age requirements for professional Quidditch players.

* * *

March at Hogwarts began with ongoing frigid, cruel winds that whipped about the castle. The place was still pulsing with confused grief over the death of Madrigal Bones. Bellatrix paid that 'tragic' issue no mind whatsoever; she was focusing entirely on successfully leaving the place. Besides, talk of Madrigal died down as it became clear that there would be no definitive answers in 'solving her murder.'

As the weeks marched ever onward, spring came over the place like a light, silky cloth. Wildflowers began to sprout in the glens. The dreary winter skies gave way to endless blue heavens. The grass around the castle looked greener by the day. By the time of the Hogsmeade visit on the fifteenth of March, the weather was sunny and outright pleasant.

Bellatrix made her way down the winding path toward the village on her own, not minding the way she could see Rodolphus chatting far ahead with his Quidditch friends. There were a few Slytherin girls with whom she might have chosen to spend the day, but Bellatrix very often preferred her solitude. Once she was on Hogsmeade's muddy high street, she ambled toward the Hog's Head and stepped inside.

It was dark and dusty as always, a murky place not often frequented by self-righteous Gryffindors or delicate Hufflepuffs. The population today was characteristically sparse. There was a pair of elderly witches at a far table, talking very quietly about something as they sipped at hot drinks and ate questionable-looking tarts. Behind the grubby bar, Aberforth Dumbledore, the brother of the Headmaster, was barely visible in the shadows. Bellatrix snatched a copy of the Daily Prophet from the pile near the door as she made her way to a high-backed booth. She slid into the seat and raised her eyebrows when she saw the headline on the front page of the newspaper.

DEATH OF ARTEMIS PRYCE MARKS FIFTH AUROR KILLED IN AS MANY WEEKS.

Bellatrix unfolded the Prophet and began scanning the lead article. Her heart thumped with nervous excitement as she read about how one Auror after another had been lost. They'd vanished, disappearing without a trace, only for their bodies to be discovered days later. One had been found slashed to bits in a dockyard in Liverpool. This one, Artemis Pryce, had apparently failed to show up for work at the Ministry three days in a row, prompting a concerned colleague to visit her home. They'd found her sitting up in her kitchen chair, rigid in death. It was all very horrifying, according to the Daily Prophet. It was all indicative of a terrible, wicked force overtaking the entire wizarding world. Bellatrix could feel the fear radiating from the pages, from the words themselves, and she could not help but smirk a bit.

But then her little smile turned into a deep scowl, for a man she did not recognise slid into the seat opposite her and calmly folded his hands upon the table. Bellatrix folded the Daily Prophet and set it aside, cocking up an eyebrow and tipping her head as she asked sharply,

"What do you want?"

The man smiled crookedly at her, his eyes glistening with amusement. There was something familiar there, in his gaze. In fact, the whole of him seemed as though perhaps he was someone Bellatrix had met many years earlier. She was about to ask if she knew the man. Then he whispered a single word, and it all made sense. "Bella."

Her mouth fell open. He'd Transfigured his features. His face was longer, thinner, with less definition in his cheekbones. His hair was a lighter brown, with a coarse wave to it. He had scruff on his jaw and chin. His nose was wider and a bit more hooked. But his eyes… they were exactly the same. Deep, dark, and pressing. Bellatrix gulped hard, knowing she'd be a fool to call him My Lord in a public place. So she lowered her face and spoke at the wooden table.

"Do you require something of me?"

Voldemort chuckled then, his laugh low and sensual. "Always such a good girl," he whispered, and Bellatrix felt her heart flutter. Then she was jolted to reality again when the sound of a throat clearing roughly came from her left. Aberforth Dumbledore was around eighty years of age, but he was still an energetic man. He had pale, shining eyes like his brother, and now they looked back and forth between Bellatrix and the disguised Lord Voldemort.

"Miss Black," Aberforth acknowledged crisply. He turned to Voldemort and raised his eyes with expectation.

"My distant cousin," Bellatrix said simply, lying with confidence. "Visiting from abroad."

Aberforth Dumbledore had seen more of his fair share of questionable customers in the Hog's Head over the years, and he knew better than to ask questions. So he just turned his eyes back to Bellatrix, who said in a tone born of privilege,

"A firewhisky for me. Blishen's. And a mince pie." She turned to Voldemort, her mind confused by the subtle but real changes in his appearance, and she watched as he held up two fingers silently to Aberforth Dumbledore. The barkeep nodded and shuffled off, making his way back behind the bar.

Voldemort's fingers moved through the air in a tiny but deliberate gesture, and then suddenly it was as if there was an invisible wall around their booth. The ambient noise of the old witches talking, of Aberforth moving around behind the bar, fell silent. There was a little vibration, and Bellatrix suspected that anything they said here would now go unheard. Still, she whispered very quietly as she asked the Dark Lord,

"How may I serve you, My Lord?"

He picked up the Daily Prophet, and his lips curled up as he read the headline. He set it back down carefully and noted, "For these past few months, our cause has been quite successful. I wish to take a brief respite from my long hours of work and celebrate the progress we are making."

Bellatrix nodded, but she was confused. She glanced over to the bar, where Aberforth Dumbledore was pouring firewhisky into tumblers. She murmured furtively to Voldemort,

"Forgive me, My Lord, but… you mean to celebrate by Transfiguring your appearance and drinking firewhisky and eating mince pies?"

He laughed then, an actual little laugh, and his dark eyes sharpened. He shook his head, crackling with internal energy as he told her, "There will be no firewhisky, nor any mince pies. Come."

Without another word, he rose from the table and looked straight at Aberforth Dumbledore. Bellatrix watched in awe as his pale yew wand, which she didn't know he'd been holding, pointed surreptitiously toward the bar. She just barely heard Voldemort whisper, "Confundo."

There were a few seconds of silence as Aberforth shuddered where he stood. Voldemort kept staring at the barkeep, probably willing the man to forget that Bellatrix had ever stepped foot into the Hog's Head. The old witches at their table were still chatting, completely unaware of what was happening. Voldemort strode confidently toward the door, and Bellatrix scrambled the follow him.

Out in the street, she had to practically trot to keep up with him as he made his way to Grey's Inn, the sole option for real lodging for visitors to Hogsmeade. His confidence did not falter as he sauntered past the check-in desk, where a middle-aged wizard nodded respectfully. So he'd made plans in advance, Bellatrix realised. Whomever was managing Grey's Inn was a subordinate of Voldemort's and knew that this disguised man was the Dark Lord.

He walked wordlessly up the narrow, winding stairs, passing two full storeys before entering the tiny corridor that had one dark door on each side. Bellatrix was breathless from hurrying up the stairs after him, and her heart did not slow one bit as she watched Voldemort pull a heavy key from the inside of his robes. He merely waved the iron key toward the door on the left, and the lock clicked open. Voldemort pushed the door open and stepped inside, and Bellatrix followed.

She shut the door behind her nervously, wondering what exactly he meant to do with her here, in a room at Grey's Inn. She turned round to face him, feeling at once terrified and thrilled when she saw that he'd quickly removed all his facial Transfigurations. It was just him again. Just her Dark Lord, magnificent with his cold, handsome features. Bellatrix remembered the way he'd forced her to finish on that chair in Malfoy Manor, the way she'd wanted nothing more than for him to claim her fully. She felt a rush of heat between her legs as she studied the room in which they stood.

The ceiling was low and angled toward the little window that needed washing. There was a bed, wide and clean-looking, a sturdy dark wardrobe, a small desk and chair, and a few glass lanterns upon the pale green walls. That was all. It was a simple room. Bellatrix's examination of her surroundings was broken when she heard Voldemort's voice say in a silky tone,

"Five Aurors killed in five weeks. And the daughter of an Auror, thanks to you, Bella."

She smiled at him, unable to keep her eyes from welling with pride and gratitude. He closed the distance between them and put both his hands on her cheeks, his skin heavenly against hers. She started to close her eyes, overcome with bliss, but he said rather sharply,

"Look at me."

She did, and his gaze flashed. He stroked under her eyes with the pads of his thumbs and tipped his head, asking, "Do you want to make me happy, Bella?"

She nodded vigorously, feeling his fingers tighten on her face as she whispered, "Yes, My Lord. I want nothing else in all the world than to -"

She couldn't finish her sentence, for he'd lowered his face and crushed his mouth against hers. Bellatrix had never been kissed before, but she was quite certain that ordinary kisses were nothing like this. He shoved his tongue hard against her lips. Bellatrix opened her mouth at once, granting him entry but unsure of what to do next. He stroked his tongue along the top of her mouth and she moaned like a whore, her knees buckling a little. He bit her bottom lip so hard it hurt, but it also felt perfect. He pulled his mouth away and his hands flew from Bellatrix's cheeks to her waist. He shoved her roughly against the wall, and Bella whimpered at how hard her body slammed onto the green wallpaper.

"Clothes off. All of them. Right now," Voldemort ordered sharply, and Bellatrix felt her eyes go round with surprise and thrill blended together. She began to strip off her Hogwarts uniform as quickly as she could, tossing the pieces with shaking fingers onto the nearby bed.

* * *

She was very pretty naked.

Her breasts were small, but round and proportionate to her petite frame. Her flat stomach curved into hips that just hinted at womanhood. Voldemort felt himself growing harder by the moment as she took off her robe, then her cardigan and shirt and tie, her plain white bra, then her skirt and her knickers, her socks and shoes. She stood against the wall again, naked and beautiful, her wide eyes searching Voldemort's for instruction.

He'd never felt anything quite like this. He'd taken women before, but those encounters had always been for the simple goal of achieving sexual release. He'd tortured witches and wizards. He'd killed. He'd ordered people about and had them bow and back away fearfully as they obeyed what he said. Voldemort had many experiences with feeling with feeling dominant. But this was different, somehow.

It was, if anything, an almost alarmingly powerful aphrodisiac. Kissing her aggressively had felt like being high on a potent drug. It had been intoxicating to taste the sweet and salt on her lips. It was like being drunk in the best way, barking an order at her to strip and watching as her body was revealed to him.

He took her wrists in his hands, gripping them so hard he knew there would be bruises. He slammed them against the wall, above Bellatrix's head, and he could feel the way she was trying not to vocalize her pain. Voldemort hissed into her ear,

"Your wedding night with Rodolphus Lestrange will pale in comparison to what I am about to do to you. Do you understand, Bella? You are mine, no matter who shares your marriage bed. Mine. Do you understand?"

"Yes." She was helpless now, so aroused that she squirmed and her eyes went glassy. She managed to nod, and she whispered. "Yes. I understand, My Lord. Do with me what pleases you. I want… I need… to please you."

He kissed the spot just beneath her ear with a gentle press of his lips, making her shiver, and he whispered once more, "My good girl. Such a good girl."

Then he yanked her right wrist from the wall and shoved her hand against the front of his trousers. He struggled more than he'd anticipated having to do to stay quiet himself when her fingers drifted over the hard bulge of his erection.

"Do you feel how hard you've made me, Bella?" he demanded, and she nodded once, her hand stilling when he released her other wrist and began to paw at her left breast. For a moment, he was gentle, soothing her pillowy skin with his knuckles and enjoy the feel of it. She gasped a little and tipped her head against the wall, but then he pinched her perky little nipple so hard that she yelped in pain.

Voldemort could not hold back any longer. This was all too much for both of them. No more pretending that he didn't want her. He was strong and powerful, but today his lust was the most powerful thing of all. In a voice that was far too shaky for his liking, he said to Bellatrix,

"Get on the bed. Lie on your stomach. Now."

She scrambled to obey him, and whilst she did, he made quick work of his own clothes. He unhooked his black traveling cloak and tossed it over the chair at the desk. He unhooked and peeled away his black tunic, and he did away with his trousers and undergarments. Bellatrix did not watch him from where she lay on the bed, probably because he'd not given her permission to do so. She really was his best lieutenant, Voldemort thought distantly. Soon enough, he was as naked as she was. He was toned and lean, not that he would ever allow another to make him feel ashamed of his own body. He climbed onto the bed like a predator stalking its prey, and he put a knee on either side of Bellatrix's thighs.

His cock stood straight out from his body, aching and throbbing, but he ignored in in favour of Bellatrix's nude form. He dragged his fingernails down her back, straddling the line between being teasing and being outright rough. She moaned softly against the pillow, and he saw her fingers grasp anxiously at the bedsheets. That only made him harder.

"Tell me, Bella," Voldemort said quietly as his hands massaged and explored her shapely backside, "Tell me what you'll do for me."

"Anything, My Lord!" she exclaimed, turning her face enough to meet his eyes. There was desperation there, in her wide dark gaze, as she repeated, "Anything. Anything you ask of me, until the day I die. I am yours."

He spanked her backside, just firmly enough to make her eyelids flutter with bliss, and he hissed at her,

"Say it again."

"I am yours, My Lord," she whispered, sounding as though she could hardly breathe. Voldemort slid backward a few inches and roughly shoved her thighs apart. He dragged his fingertips up the smooth insides of Bellatrix's thighs, and he whispered so quietly he could hardly hear himself,

"Say it again, Bella."

"I'm yours." She was crying now. He could tell, even though her voice was muffled by the pillow. Unsure of whether she was crying because of fear or something else, Voldemort thought, Legilimens, and he pushed into her mind. She let him straight in, and he could feel and see the way she so desperately wanted him. Needed him.

Loved him.

That was a surprise, to see and hear and feel the way she'd spent weeks thinking of him during lessons, at night alone in her bed, and when she'd pretended to care about Rodolphus Lestrange's performance during a Quidditch match.

Bellatrix adored Lord Voldemort with all of her being. She wanted to make him happy, to help him be successful however she possibly could. She worshiped him in her mind, in the very depths of her soul. All her outward reverence was real and valid. Voldemort could see and feel that now for himself.

His cock twitched as he processed all that. He pulled himself from her head and pulled the pads of his fingers over her entrance, which was sodden, throbbing, and swollen. Her body was so aroused that a light pink flush was visible on her arms and neck. At the instant his fingers touched her, Bellatrix's hands tightened on the sheets and she squealed into the pillow. Voldemort smirked, very much enjoying the way he was driving her to madness with the lightest touch.

He continued to stroke her for a few moments, watching the way her back heaved with quick, shallow breaths as he did. Then, without warning, he pushed two fingers into her. He hesitated for a brief moment when he felt the wall of resisting tissue, the proof of her virginity. Bellatrix yelped and squirmed, and he knew he'd really hurt her then.

Ordinarily, causing people physical pain was one of the more enjoyable experiences in Lord Voldemort's life. Just now, though, with his fingers pressing against Bellatrix's barrier, he felt an odd and unfamiliar twinge in his abdomen.

"You have never been taken before," he noted matter-of-factly, swearing at himself in his head for the way his voice trembled with arousal. Bellatrix looked over her shoulder at him and bravely rotated her hips backward a little against his fingers. There was a slight ripping, a tangible tearing as she broke herself against him. That probably hurt considerably, Voldemort thought, but Bella's eyes were confident as she said in a courageous little whisper,

"There could be no greater honour for me, My Lord, if it were you to make a woman of me."

That was too much. How did she always know just exactly how to push him too far? Voldemort growled, wrenching his fingers from her and seeing the little bit of blood on them. That made him so aroused he could hardly think straight, but he managed to grip his cock in his hand and guide it toward Bellatrix's entrance. He met her eyes as she looked back at him, and he tried his damnedest to keep his face hard and emotionless as he informed her,

"This will hurt."

Then he shoved himself forward, thrusting his entire length into her in one mighty push. Her fists pounded the sheets a few times as she moaned loudly into the pillow. Voldemort grasped her hips as tightly as he could, hoping that tomorrow she'd see bruises there in the shape of his fingertips. He thrashed against Bellatrix, making no effort to stifle his satisfied grunts and wordless groans.

This felt better than any sexual encounter he'd ever had. She was tight and warm and wet around him. She wanted him. No. She needed him. Her body was screaming desperately for more. She was trembling beneath his rough grip, and her voice keened endlessly, muffled by the pillow. Then he felt her clenching around him, felt her walls gripping him in rhythmic embraces as she came. She liked this, too. She liked the way he was conquering her, the way he was claiming her.

"Tell me you're mine," he snarled, pushing into her as her climax subsided and pausing the movements of her hips. Her voice was frantic as she turned her face from the pillow just enough to rasp,

"I'm yours. I… My Lord, I belong to you. I am yours."

"Mine," he repeated, bucking his hips forward and jerking her hips backward a few times until she cried out in agony. He yanked himself from her, muttering a wandless contraceptive spell just in case, and he clutched his cock in his hand. It was slick as he glided his hand over it. Slick from her, from the pearlescent, unpracticed part of her he'd just vanquished.

"Bella..." he heard himself murmur, wishing very much that he hadn't said her nickname just then, and certainly not in the almost pleading tone he'd inadvertently used.

She panted where she lay, her womanhood still fully visible to Voldemort. After a few more pumps of his hand, it was all over for him. He watched with fascination as his seed shot onto her smooth backside. He spilled himself all over her in obscene little puddles and streams, white and creamy, the very essence of him splattering her pretty skin.

"Ungh… My Lord… My… My Lord," she was moaning, burying her face into the pillow again as her fingernails dug into her own curls. Voldemort stared for a long moment at the mess he'd put on her, and he considered what he'd just done.

By most social convention, this deed, this act of deflowering her, belonged to Rodolphus Lestrange. But he was Lord Voldemort. He could take whatever he wanted from whomever he wanted. But he hadn't stolen anything from Bellatrix. Not really. She'd found great pleasure in him ravishing her. She had pleaded with him to take her virginity away.

She worshipped him. And she was his. Voldemort was willing and able to say that about a great many things… that they were his, that they belonged to him by right or by force. Bellatrix was his because in her mind, he was stainless. He was her hero, her god, her master. And she adored him.

Well, good, Voldemort thought. He snatched for his wand and cleaned up the mess of his seed from Bellatrix's backside. Let her enjoy the way I shove her against the wall, the way I order her about when she's naked, the way I order her to kill for me. Let her enjoy it all.

She stayed silent on the bed, seemingly in euphoric shock, as Voldemort quickly dressed himself again. He eyed her naked body again, his gaze lingering on her still-hard nipples and the slight curve of her narrow waist into her hips. He cleared his throat roughly and dragged his fingers through his hair to neaten it. He began to Transfigure his features again, one at a time, carefully recreating the alias he'd made for himself for his visit to Hogsmeade.

"Get dressed, Bella, and go back to Hogwarts. I'm sure you'll want to be revising for your NEWTs, hmm? I will call on you again when you are needed."

Bellatrix sat up on the edge of the bed and nodded, her cheeks still mottled pink. "Yes. Of course, My Lord. Th-thank you." She began pulling on her Slytherin uniform again, one piece at a time.

Voldemort sniffed lightly. He thought for a half second about kissing her forehead or giving her some other physical signal of farewell, but he thought the better of it. She needed to know that today was simply about him finding release, simply about him claiming her virginity whilst putting bruises on her hips. That was all today had been, and Bellatrix needed to understand that.

So instead Voldemort put one hand on the doorknob and said in a very casual tone, "You did well today, Bella. You pleased me. Just like you did before. Just like I know you always will… won't you?"

Without giving her a chance to answer, Voldemort quickly opened the inn room door and walked out into the dark corridor, shutting the door behind him and hurrying down the steps.


	2. Chapter 2

**May, 1969**

Voldemort signed what felt like the hundredth parchment today. Things were moving more quickly now; attempts to supplant Ministry officials were getting more effective by the day. Half the Auror force now consisted of those loyal to Voldemort. There had been a recent, complex heist of important records from the Ministry that went undetected and unreported because of how deeply Voldemort's followers had penetrated the place. But with increasing political power came a great deal of paperwork. Voldemort's hand cramped a bit around his quill, and he was not disappointed to set it down when he heard knocking on the door.

"Enter," he said firmly. The door to his office at Malfoy Manor opened and Cygnus Black III came walking in, bowing before Voldemort's desk before passing over a silvery envelope bound with emerald and black ribbon. Voldemort eyed the other man curiously, and Cygnus said in an uncertain tone,

"It is an invitation, My Lord. I had thought it would be utterly unacceptable not to at least -"

Voldemort held up his hand to silence Cygnus, and he opened the envelope. He pulled out a shimmering piece of pearlescent card stock with elaborate black script.

'Mr and Mrs Cygnus Black III cordially request the honour of your presence at the wedding of their daughter Bellatrix Black to Rodolphus Lestrange. Saturday, the 21st of June 1969 at Castle Lestrange in Bath. Ceremony at four in the afternoon with reception to follow immediately.'

Voldemort felt strange, for some reason, as he glided his fingertips over the embossed script. It was hardly as thought this wedding was a surprise. He studied the words again as Cygnus rambled nervously, saying that of course he did not expect the Dark Lord to bother with attending, but that he knew it would be rude not to invite him, and -

"I shall be in attendance," Voldemort interrupted, and Cygnus looked pleasantly surprised. Voldemort sniffed lightly and said, "Moreover, I shall be officiating."

Cygnus Black looked at once awestruck and confused. He started stammering about how that wasn't necessary, that it would be an incredible honour, but that he couldn't possibly -

"That was not a request," Voldemort interjected in a smooth hiss. Cygnus fell silent, and Voldemort said in a calm tone, "This is an arranged marriage between two of my most loyal families, and it will serve to demonstrate the importance of maintaining bloodlines. I shall officiate the ceremony."

Cygnus nodded frantically. "Yes. Of course. Th-thank you, My Lord. I can not properly express my… in any case, thank you, My Lord."

Voldemort nodded, forcing himself to look bored. He waved his hand toward the door, dismissing Cygnus Black. Once the man had gone, Voldemort picked the invitation up off the desk and read it again three times. Then he picked his quill back up and got back to his paperwork.

* * *

Bellatrix glanced around the Great Hall, smirking a bit at the sight of the enormous Slytherin banners that had been hung to celebrate their victory in the House Cup. The end-of-term feast was always interesting, but this would be Bellatrix's last feast as a Hogwarts student. Many of her fellow seventh-years seemed downright gloomy about the prospect of leaving Hogwarts for good, but Bellatrix knew that there was far more ahead of her than behind her.

"Bellatrix?" she heard a voice say, and she looked across the table to where Sabine Yaxley sat. Bellatrix put her eyebrows up, indicating that if something had been said, she hadn't been listening. Sabine asked patiently, "Are you very excited for your wedding?"

Bellatrix shrugged lightly. "I'm sure the festivities will be plenty of fun," she said, and she left it at that. Sabine looked less than satisfied, and beside Bellatrix, her fifth-year sister Andromeda said gently,

"Why don't you tell her about your dress? About what Cissy and I are wearing?"

"Why don't you do it, if you're so eager?" Bellatrix countered. Her sister sighed patiently and said to Sabine,

"Bellatrix's gown is beautiful, Sabine. Wait until you see it. Cream silk, with a gathered, bustled skirt, tasseling and embroidery… it's magnificent. Narcissa and I will be the bridesmaids; we've already had some lovely clover green gown robes custom made."

Sabine grinned and reached across the table to put her hand on Bellatrix's. Bellatrix fought the urge to physically recoil, but she did scowl at the way the other girl had touched her. Sabine said in a very happy voice,

"I'm so jealous of you. I hope my father finds me someone good to marry soon enough, as well."

Bellatrix snatched her hand away and scoffed. "Let them take their time selling you off."

Suddenly a very sour tone settled over the table. Andromeda scrambled to lighten the mood and asked her sister,

"Has Rodolphus told you what the groomsmen will be wearing?"

"I've no idea who the groomsmen even are," Bellatrix shot back, "and I don't much care. Stephen from Quidditch, probably. And Abellio, the one who graduated last year? They've stayed good friends. Probably them. Don't know. Don't care. Hope the cake is good."

She put a potato into her mouth with her fork and chewed, feeling a bit amused at the way Sabine Yaxley seemed so befuddled by Bellatrix's lack of interest in her own wedding.

"Our mum's been doing most of the planning," Andromeda explained quietly. She and Sabine started talking about other mundane things, and Bellatrix looked down the table to where Rodolphus sat with his friends. After a moment, he caught her eyes and flashed her a quick, small smile and a little wave. Bellatrix just nodded. Her stomach felt a bit weak, all of a sudden, knowing that she was meant to share her bed with him every night in just a few weeks' time. She closed her eyes, remembering the way the Dark Lord had claimed her at Grey's Inn.

Dumbledore made some sappy speeches about how Hogwarts would always welcome the departing seventh-years 'home,' about how he wished all the students a happy and safe summer. The announcement of Slytherin's victory was met with raucous cheers from those around Bellatrix, but she just clapped and forced the corners of her lips upward. Then there was a moment of silence in memory of Madrigal Bones, who had 'lost her life to a vicious killer yet free, but one who will be discovered and punished.'

Bellatrix tried hard not to snort at that, at the simpering way Dumbledore spoke of Madrigal Bones. Bellatrix thought back to the day she'd given Madrigal the hemlock tea, how efficiently and perfectly her plans had come to fruition, the way she had followed the Dark Lord's first meaningful orders for her. And then she smiled.

* * *

**June, 1969**

"My Lord." A witch Voldemort did not recognize bowed her head and paused as he walked briskly past her. He granted her a single nod and kept going, down the long corridor of Castle Lestrange's second storey. He could hear Bellatrix's voice just a few doors further down, along with Druella Rosier. When he came to the suite of rooms where he'd been told the bride was readying herself, Voldemort stopped in the doorway and waited.

Narcissa Black was the first to notice him there, and she gasped at the sight of the Dark Lord in the threshold. Druella Black and her other daughter, Andromeda, were in the room. And then there was Bellatrix, standing before a mirror in an obscenely overdone cream gown, with a silver braided wreath atop her dark curls from which tumbled yards of expensive lace.

"Ladies, if you've no immediate need to continue here, I should like a moment alone with the bride."

"Of course, My Lord," Druella said immediately. She kissed Bellatrix's cheek and murmured that she'd see her daughter at the ceremony. Then she gestured to Andromeda and Narcissa and barked, "Come on, girls."

Voldemort stepped aside to let them pass, and once they'd gone, he stepped into the room. He'd dressed a bit differently today, too. He'd chosen a stiff white shirt with a black bow tie and a finely-made black silk waistcoat. His black trousers were perfectly tailored. His top layer of robes was an elegant velvet, the darkest green, with close-fitting sleeves and a single clasp at the waist. Bellatrix eyed him hungrily as he shut the door and turned the lock with his fingers instead of magic.

He said nothing as he approached her, studying the way her full lips gleamed with coral lip colour, the way they'd put blusher on her sharp cheekbones. He looked at the double strand of fine pearls around her neck, the way her curls contrasted sharply with her veil. He brushed his fingers over the lace of the veil and said softly,

"It is odd to see you in so pale a colour."

Bellatrix's lips parted, and she took a shaking breath before she whispered, "I could easily Transfigure its colour, My Lord, if it does not please you."

"No." He shook his head, and his hands moved to caress her tightly laced bodice. "Today you are a bride, and so the colour is fitting."

They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Voldemort leaned down to brush his lips against Bellatrix's. She moaned quietly against him, and her hands pressed to the front of his robes. For a moment, he thought about taking her against the wall, of hiking up her wedding gown and putting his seed inside of her on the day she was to marry the Lestrange boy.

"Bella," he whispered against her mouth, feeling her shiver when his breath touched her skin. He deepened the kiss, and she happily welcomed his tongue. He explored her both and he nibbled her lips, hearing and feeling the way her body was coming alive for him. He took the kiss from deep to rough, squeezing tightly at Bellatrix's waist as he pushed his mouth on hers.

So pretty, he thought. She looks so very pretty.

Then he wrenched himself away quickly, for he was horrified at the way a twinge of emotion had seeped into a carnal encounter. He swiped her saliva away from his lips with the back of his hand and gestured vaguely toward her own face.

"You will need to fix your lipstick," he said plainly, and Bellatrix nodded as she smirked.

"Hurry and ready yourself," he said sharply, flinging the door open and walking quickly away. "The ceremony begins in fifteen minutes."

* * *

"I present to you, Rodolphus, Bellatrix Black, my daughter. She is of noble heritage and pure blood. I present her to you for marriage; take care of her and be gentle with her." Cygnus Black guided Bellatrix to her place at the front of Castle Lestrange's great hall, and Bellatrix tried hard not to pull a face. Those were very silly words her father had just said. It was all so silly, that the men should speak of her as if she isn't there, that she needed someone to take care of her or be gentle with her.

She glanced at the hundred or so guests that had gathered, at the neat rows of chairs where they sat watching, and she gulped hard. She looked to Rodolphus, feeling nothing, and then she looked up to her lord and master, and she felt everything.

"Bellatrix Black," he said, meeting her eyes as he spoke her name, "extend your right hand and take that of your intended, Rodolphus Lestrange."

Bellatrix and Rodolphus held their right hands together. Again, in Rodolphus' touch, Bellatrix felt neither revulsion nor attraction. She felt nothing. Rodolphus' eyes were locked on Bellatrix's face, but she found herself glancing over to Voldemort every half second. His black eyes were glistening with something Bella can't identify as he said,

"Rodolphus Lestrange, do you take Bellatrix Black as your wife, with full intention to honour your union with her until your death?"

"I do," Rodolphus said confidently. There was a little vibration, warm and subtle, between their hands. Bellatrix frowned.

"Bellatrix Black, do you take Rodolphus Lestrange as your husband, with full intention to honour your union with him until your death?"

Bellatrix hesitated for the briefest moment. Her voice was a whisper as she said, "I do, My Lord."

Voldemort wound the tip of his yew wand around Bellatrix's and Rodolphus' hands, murmuring ancient incantations as metallic threads of light curl and braid themselves before disappearing. Bellatrix let go of Rodolphus' hand as Voldemort said,

"I declare that the two before me are now bound in marriage."

The gathered crowd clapped happily. Rodolphus whispered that they're meant to kiss, but Bellatrix just stood there, thinking that if he wanted a kiss from her, he would have to initiate that. Finally, Rodolphus leaned down and pressed his lips to Bella's.

It felt nothing like when Voldemort kissed her in Grey's Inn, or earlier today. There was nothing rough or passionate about it. It was the most plain, boring, and meaningless kiss imaginable, Bellatrix thought, and she suspected her marriage would be very much the same.

* * *

The elf-made wine being served today was particularly sweet, and Voldemort could only tolerate a single glass of the cloying stuff before he passed the empty chalice carelessly off to a house-elf. He stood back behind the crowd of guests, who had assembled around the dance floor, ogling the newly married couple as though they were animals in a zoo.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus were waltzing alone on the floor for their ceremonial first dance. They both had little smiles on their faces, but it was obvious they wanted the song - and the strange attention - to end as promptly as possible. Voldemort stood well away from the others, noticing the way Rodolphus' hand pressed against the small of Bella's back.

She was his, he thought, no matter what Rodolphus did with her in their marriage bed tonight. She would always be his.

After the dull steak-carrot-potato meal was consumed, the tables and chairs disappeared to make way for more merry-making. The wedding guests begin socialising and dancing, and Voldemort was taken back to the Christmas party at Malfoy Manor. This great hall was not so elaborate or grand as that one, but this was still an assemblage of the most elite wizarding families in Britain.

Voldemort spent an hour or so making small talk with followers and hangers-on who wanted to speak with him just be near him. He expertly danced the line between condescension and friendliness, using his expert skills of manipulation so that every conversation ended with a deep bow and wide smile from his follower.

After a while, he looked around the room and saw Bellatrix speaking with a few of her distant relatives, members of the Rosier family. Rodolphus Lestrange was off with his friends in a far corner, a mostly-empty tumbler of whisky in his hand. Voldemort frowned a bit toward Rodolphus and strode confidently toward Bellatrix, interrupting the conversation as the Rosiers deferentially noted his presence.

He extended his hand and said matter-of-factly, "I should like to dance with the bride."

The Rosiers went wide-eyed as Bellatrix took Voldemort's hand and murmured, "It would be my honour, My Lord."

He guided her toward the dance floor, consciously slowing his steps to accomodate her voluminous gown and her short legs.

There are others on the dance floor, but everyone, even those dancing, were watching Voldemort and Bellatrix.

"His hands don't feel the same on me," Bellatrix whispered. "They never will, My Lord."

"They don't have to," he replied confidently. He flicked his dark eyes toward Rodolphus, who was obliviously having an animated, tipsy conversation with his friends. "You are married to Rodolphus Lestrange, but you are mine, Bella. Aren't you?" He shot her a meaningful glare. She nodded, her eyes welling, and he said quite sharply, "Do not cry. Not about something so silly as a husband."

The song ended, but he could tell Bellatrix didn't want to take her hands from him. Finally she stepped away and wrung her hands as she whispered, "I don't want to… to do with him what I…"

Voldemort scoffed. "That boy isn't capable of doing to you what I've done, or what I mean to do to you, Bella."

She looked shocked then, and Voldemort continued nonchalantly, rolling his eyes in the directly of Rodolphus. "He's already rather drunk. Take your time getting yourself undressed and bathed, and he'll either be asleep or impotent by then."

Bellatrix laughed then, unable to help herself. It was a real laugh, somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. Voldemort brushed his knuckles along her jaw, and her laughter turned into a shaking little sigh. He quirked up half his mouth as he stared down at her, and he said, "The next time I take you, I mean to leave you utterly exhausted from finishing so many times The next time I take you, I mean leave you covered in bruises from my touch. Don't worry; I'll have plenty of butterfly weed balm to soothe you afterward. Congratulations on your marriage, Bella."

Without another word, he turned and walked quickly away, leaving her red-cheeked and open-mouthed on the dance floor.

* * *

It was past one in the morning by the time Bellatrix slithered into the bed she was meant to share with Rodolphus tonight. She wore a plain white nightgown, unadorned rather on purpose. She stared at the ceiling and listened to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, where Rodolphus was taking his turn getting cleaned up from the festivities.

Eventually he staggered drunkenly out of the bathroom. Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow up at him, watching as he fumbled through the wardrobe for a nightshirt.

"May as well stay naked," she said matter-of-factly, "seeing as how we're meant to consummate the marriage and all."

"Yes. Yes. That… that is good thinking, Bella." He stumbled a bit as he climbed into bed beside her, and Bellatrix scowled deeply. She'd told him not to call her by that nickname. She rolled her eyes when he looked as though he were going to fall asleep. Feeling as though it would be best to simply get this over with, Bellatrix snatched her wand from the bedside table, aimed it surreptitiously at her lower abdomen, and murmured a powerful contraceptive spell that would last the next month. She might have to be married, but she didn't have to give birth nine months from now.

When she turned back to Rodolphus, he was touching himself, rubbing his fingers over his limp cock, moaning quietly as he said, "I dunno if it's gonna work, Bella. Had far too much to drink, I'm afraid."

Bellatrix stared at his member, which seemed not at all up to the task at hand, and she pinched her lips. "Would you like me to create an artificial erection with a spell?" she asked him, and Rodolphus turned his eyes to her as he shook his head.

"Tomorrow, perhaps?" he suggested. He reached a clumsy hand toward her curls and ensnared his fingers in them as he said, "I'm sorry. Drank too much. Shouldn't have done… anyway, I'll consummate it with you tomorrow. Promise."

Bellatrix nodded and thought what to do next. She really didn't want to sleep here, next to him, but she hadn't grown up in this castle like he had.

"If you're willing and able, Rodolphus, perhaps you can go to sleep in your own private quarters tonight."

She said it as nicely as she could manage, and Bellatrix was not terribly skilled at being nice. Thankfully, Rodolphus seemed to understand her discomfort. He staggered and stumbled out of bed and back to the wardrobe again, managing with great difficulty to pull on loose-fitting sleeping trousers and a nightshirt. He reached for his wand with uncoordinated fingers, and he swayed as he made his way to the door. Just before he left, he grinned crookedly at Bellatrix and gave her a little wave.

"G'night, wifey," he said, and Bellatrix watched the door shut behind him. She huffed in frustration and lay on her back again, eyeing a little spot of water damage on the ceiling. She was certain that Rodolphus would be willing and able to consummate their marriage when he wasn't piss drunk, but tonight she just felt… irritated.

The dress. The veil. The people watching her dance with her new husband. It had all been overwhelming fanfare. Bellatrix shut her eyes and determined that she would get a few hours of solid sleep, that she would at least rest her mind and body after the pomp of the wedding.

But then there was a quiet little sound, halfway between a pop and a crack, and Bellatrix's eyes sprang open. She sat bolt upright and snatched her wand from the bedside table, aiming it blindly into the dark room as she searched for the source of the sound. Then she felt her hand lowering, as if someone invisible were pushing it downward. Out of the darkest corner of the bedroom, he came stalking like a nocturnal predator.

Him. Her lord and master. He had Apparated into the bedroom; had he seen Rodolphus leaving and going to his own quarters? Bellatrix regained control of her hand and put her wand on the bedside table again.

"So? How was he?" Lord Voldemort asked simply, and it was only then that Bellatrix realised he wore a white nightshirt with an elegant green-and-gold brocade dressing gown over it. She tried to steady her breath and knew that he was asking about the consummation.

"It was… it was as you predicted, My Lord. He had too much to drink, and -"

Voldemort's deep laughter curled through the room like a quiet roll of thunder. He stepped closer to the side of the bed where Bellatrix was, and he tangled his fingers in her wild curls. It felt so much better, Bellatrix thought, to have him touch her hair like this.

"So," he said, standing above her, "Your poor, lovely body has been neglected tonight, has it?"

She wasn't sure how he wanted her to answer, so Bellatrix just shut her eyes and whispered, "Do with me what you will, My Lord."

"Always, always such a good girl, Bella." His fingers tightened in her hair until it hurt, and Bellatrix groaned against her will. It hurt, the way he was yanking on her hair, but it also felt pleasurable.

Voldemort moved to stand at the end of the four-poster bed, curling his fingers around the rim of the footboard. He jerked his head to Bellatrix and said, "Off with that nightgown."

She obeyed at once, excitement taking her over. This should be all wrong, that someone other than her husband come into her marriage bed and take her body on her wedding night. But it felt right. It felt as though this was exactly what what meant to happen.

"What pretty little breasts you have," the Dark Lord noted lightly, and Bellatrix glanced self-consciously down at them. Then she heard him say, "Touch them."

She did, squeezing the pillowy flesh and dragging her thumbs over her nipples. This felt good, too, and she was now warm and wet between her legs.

"Put your fingers down there," he said sharply, as though he'd read her mind. Bellatrix did, gasping a little when the pads of her fingers touched the most sensitive spot. Voldemort's voice was smooth and sure as he said,

"Enjoy it now, before it's sore. You belong me there and everywhere else, and you will ache tomorrow from what I do to you tonight."

That was overwhelming, to hear him say that, and Bellatrix nearly finished around her own fingers. She watched with wide-eyed fascination as Voldemort untied the belt of his dressing gown and shucked it. He peeled off his nightshirt and let it fall to the floor. He was already mostly hard, Bellatrix could see, which was more than Rodolphus had been able to say at any point tonight. Suddenly he was at the side of the bed again, and he arranged himself so that his cock was at the level of Bellatrix's face.

"Do you like to look at it?" he asked, sounding quite aroused himself, and she nodded fervently up at him. His dark eyes glistened, and he tipped his head. "Worship it," he instructed her. "Use your mouth and your hands, and worship me there."

"Oh… yes. Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix reached a shaking hand out, utterly inexperienced in matters like this, and she wrapped her fingers around his shaft. He was velvet on stone - a sheath of soft skin around a pillar of throbbing hardness. Bellatrix wrapped her lips around his tip, tasting salt and musk that drove her mad with want. She began to act as her instinct told her to do. She pushed her wet mouth down his length up and pulled it up again, swirling her tongue around him inside her mouth. She used her hand to complement what her mouth was doing. She pumped along his length with every bob of her head, until he snatched roughly at her hair and yanked her head away.

"Do I not please you, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, suddenly terrified. His eyes were wider than she'd ever seen them, and his voice sounded almost weak as he shook his head.

"I will finish when I am ready. Get on your hands and knees."

Bellatrix trembled and was dizzy as she obeyed that order, too, hoping she didn't look like a cow as she arranged herself as he'd ordered. She waited for what felt like an eternity until there was a sudden, unexpected smack! on her backside.

It hurt. It hurt so badly; he'd spanked her so hard. But Bellatrix moaned like a whore, like she always did for him, and was delighted when she felt a matching smack on the other cheek. Her skin stung afterward, but he gave her no time to recover before he began spanking her again. Once, twice, three times. She lost count. Harder and harder until Bellatrix's lips were emitting a steady stream of pleas and gasps and wordless groans. Pleasure and plain blended until she couldn't see, couldn't think, and then she felt him thrust his length inside of her. His hands gripped her hips harder than she'd have thought him capable of doing. That hurt, too.

"Aggh!" Bellatrix cried out in alarm. She tried to steady herself and murmured, "Oh. Ohhh, My Lord."

Then, just as suddenly, he'd yanked out of her and said stiffly, "Actually, I've changed my mind. I want to see your face. Turn over. On your back."

She tried to move for him, shaking so badly that she could hardly get off her hands and knees. He 'helped' her, roughly yanking her body around the bed until her knees were parted and was lying just the way he wanted.

She felt his hand pawing roughly at her drenched entrance, but she was seeing spots and couldn't look at him. She heard him murmur, "Summagaudens," the same spell he'd forced on her at Malfoy Manor, and then everything exploded. He was pushing and twisting his fingers - were there four of them inside her now? - as she spasmed around him and grasped desperately at her own hair, at the sheets, at anything. She screamed, actually screamed, from the force of the pleasure, and he silenced her by hovering atop her and crashing his mouth down onto hers. Her lips would be swollen and chipped from the way he was suckling and biting them, she knew. Whenever she cried out from the feel of his hand abusing her entrance, his mouth grew more aggressive on hers.

It was so much. Too much. Just the right amount of everything at once. Bellatrix felt him yank his hand from her as her climax subsided, and then he pulled up and away from her and clutched his cock in his hand.

For a moment, she thought he meant to enter her again, but instead he pumped himself rapidly with his knees on either side of her stomach.

"Open your mouth, Bella," he commanded. Bellatrix thought she knew, in theory, what he meant to do, but she had no idea what to practically expect. Her sore, swollen lips parted, and he barked, "Wider. You'll take it all like the good girl you are."

Bellatrix opened her mouth a bit more, and then the Dark Lord groaned and tipped his head back. His hand stilled and his cock pulsed for a half second before jets of creamy fluid made their way to Bellatrix's mouth.

It tasted bitter and salty. Warm. Metallic. Strange, like nothing Bellatrix had ever tasted before. It was not exactly a pleasant flavour, but because it had come from him, she found herself swallowing it like it was nectar from the heavens. She shut her eyes and dragged her thumb over her wounded bottom lip, pulling a stray puddle of it into her mouth. He sounded the tiniest bit unhinged then, as he moaned and watched her savour him.

Bellatrix stared at the ceiling as he dressed himself a few moments later. She would need another shower, she knew, and she'd need to clean her teeth again. Perhaps all that could wait until morning; she was on the verge of falling asleep. She blinked a few times, drowsy and sore and a little bit confused, as Lord Voldemort walked over and set a little jar upon the bedside table.

"Butterfly weed balm," he explained, "As promised. For the bruises. You're a good girl. I will have important orders for you very soon. It is imperative that you do exactly as I command you. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix nodded up at him, struggling to stay awake. "I will always do everything you ask of me," she reassured him. "Everything you command, My Lord."

He crouched down and stroked her face, his fingers so gentle now compared to how he'd been before. "You are pretty, and you please my body well. You are loyal, and you are a valuable soldier for me. And all of this is precisely why I like you best of all," he said. "Goodnight, Bella. My Bella."

He stood and Disapparated from the bedroom with the smallest hint of crack.

Bellatrix watched the spot where he'd been standing, not fighting the tears that came to her eyes. She was his favourite. He'd just told her so. She pleased him. Well, he pleased her, too, not that it mattered.

She was in love with him, she knew. She did not just venerate him as the great Dark Wizard he was. She loved him. And that was the most frightening yet sure thought that Bellatrix had ever had.

* * *

**September, 1972**

Bellatrix and Rodolphus were eating dinner together in relative quiet, as they usually did. Little bits of conversation were known to pass back and forth over the long table in Castle Lestrange's oversized dining room, but for the most part, their shared meals were subdued. Three years into their marriage, they'd reached an amicable but distant homeostasis. Tonight, dinner was a rich red wine with beef cottage pies. Quite enjoyable, Bellatrix thought. Then she heard Rodolphus clear his throat quietly and say,

"I received some very good news this morning that I thought would make you happy, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix set down her fork and took a sip of wine to wash down the bite of food in her mouth. She raised her eyebrows expectantly at Rodolphus. "Did you?"

He nodded. "Due to how successfully we've infiltrated the Ministry at every level, it is now possible for Death Eaters to cast Unforgivable curses that are neither detected nor prosecuted by the Ministry."

Bellatrix felt her heart race and her lips curl up into a happy little smile. Torturing prisoners, and killing them if necessary, had become Bellatrix's specialty as the Dark Lord had realised she had the most potential for cruelty of all his followers. But it had been difficult, up till now, to avoid Ministry detection and pursuit when using certain… methods… for interrogation.

"I very much look forward to being able to freely utilise the Cruciatus in my work," she told Rodolphus, and he laughed a little as he cut into his cottage pie.

"Yes. I thought you'd be pleased."

As the peaceful quiet settled back over the dining room, Bellatrix pondered the fact that she had not had sex with Rodolphus in six months; they've been married just over three years. In fact, they'd probably only had sex seven or either times in the whole of their marriage, and it had always felt sterile and devoid of passion. This did not seem to bother either one of them very much. Bellatrix suspected that Rodolphus had regular relations with other women, but she neither cared nor judged. She would be a hypocrite to do so, given that she was physical with the Dark Lord at least every six weeks or so. She was continuing to use contraceptive charms on a monthly basis; she had no wish for a pregnancy just now. There was important work to be done.

Bellatrix's train of thought was broken when one of the Lestrange family's house-elves, an ancient limping creature called Mawky, came hobbling into the dining room. She lowered her wrinkled face and held out a folded parchment to Bellatrix.

"Madam Lestrange," Mawky said in her wheezy, thin voice, "This letter has just arrived by owl for you."

Bellatrix took the letter, and Mawky backed away a few steps to await further instruction. Bellatrix frowned when she saw the wax seal that bound the letter shut. It was her father's seal; the family crest of the House of Black that he used in correspondence. Bellatrix ripped the seal open and unfolded the letter quickly. She scanned her eyes over her father's familiar script, which seemed a bit shakier than usual.

My dearest Bellatrix,

I recently learned that your traitorous sister Andromeda married the Mudblood Ted Tonks in July. I have no idea of their location and have no desire to ever speak with her again. I forbid either you or Narcissa to contact her henceforth. Rumour has it that Andromeda is already expecting the Mudblood's offspring.

I once had three daughters; now I have two. One is gone forever. You continue to bring me pride in your skillful service to the Dark Lord.

With love and sorrow, Father.

Bellatrix shook with rage as she read the letter again. Rodolphus asked her what was wrong, but Bellatrix simply tore the letter into tiny shreds and tossed them onto the floor. Mawky began picking up the little bits of paper, but Bellatrix wasn't finished. Before Rodolphus could finish asking again what the letter said, she'd hurled her glass of wine at the wall as hard as she could. It shattered, and Bellatrix slammed her fists down on the table as she shrieked,

"My silly, stupid, weak-minded little sister. She's done it. She's actually done it, the little bitch."

"The Mudblood," Rodolphus nodded, his own face twisting in disgust. "Ted Tonks. So she did marry him."

"And she's got his filthy little baby inside her belly now, as well!" Bellatrix pushed her chair back forcefully, knocking Mawky over in the process and sending the torn bits of parchment flying from the house-elf's hands. Rodolphus stood out of respect when Bellatrix did, and she met his eyes. "I'm going to Malfoy Manor," she said. Rodolphus just nodded. He knew what that meant. The Dark Lord was currently staying at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix needed her master.

* * *

Voldemort finished writing a letter to Hadley Carrow, one of his most trusted Death Eaters now working at the Ministry. He wanted a list of all known Muggle-born employees in every single Ministry department, Voldemort wrote. He knew that Hadley Carrow would be quick and effective in accomplishing the task. Voldemort signed the letter just as he heard three firm knocks upon his door.

His face flew up. After three years of her knocking on this office door, he could tell Bella's knock from anyone else's. Three knocks, evenly spaced, with a precise amount of pressure. Voldemort dried the ink on his letter, rolled it up and poured hot wax on it, sealing it as he called,

"Enter."

She did, but Voldemort was rather alarmed by her appearance. She was soaking wet, which was not surprising since it was raining and she'd probably Apparated outdoors. But it wasn't her wet hair or clothes that made his stomach curl with unease. It was the way he could tell she'd been crying, the look of unhinged rage upon her features. She'd only grown more attractive in the past three years. At twenty-one, she was no child at all anymore, but her body and face were still youthful and beautiful. Right now, though, her lovely full lips were curled up and shaking with anger. She shut the door behind her and trembled as she walked slowly toward Voldemort's desk. She said nothing, just looked angry and betrayed. Voldemort could still see the bluish-yellow remnants of the bruises he'd put on her neck a few weeks ago when he'd gotten quite rough while plundering her. He turned his attention to her face and said quietly,

"Would it be safe to assume that you are this distraught because of your sister Andromeda?"

Bellatrix nodded fervently, and fresh angry tears tumbled from her eyes. Her voice was a low growl as she said, "She betrayed my entire family, My Lord. She has polluted our bloodline. She is traitor… to me, to my father, to… to you."

"She was never enthusiastic about following me, Bella, and you know it." Voldemort rose slowly from his chair and walked to where Bellatrix stood. He tipped her chin up and bored his eyes into hers. "Not everyone born into the House of Black is so loyal as Narcissa, your father, or… you. You most of all. Yes, Andromeda was traitor, and so now she is dead. She is gone. I will not hear you speak of her again. Not ever. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix gulped and nodded. "Yes, My Lord," she whispered.

"I have something that might help you feel a bit better," he said, an idea suddenly coming to him. He started to walk toward the door and said over his shoulder, "Wait here."

He quickly made his way down to the filthy, stinking dungeons of Malfoy Manor and stared through the rusty grate of a cell at a prisoner lying huddled on the stone floor. This was Eugene Broadbent… or, at least, once upon a time it had been Eugene Broadbent. He'd been a Mudblood working in the Department of Magical Transportation. Bellatrix had spent weeks torturing the man into oblivion to find out exactly how the Ministry had been tracking the movements of Death Eaters. That information had proven immensely helpful. Now the man was barely alive, lying in a heap on the ground and groaning softly every now and then. Voldemort used his wand to unlock the cell, and then he levitated the man's broken body as he made his way back up to his office.

Along the way, he passed a few servants of the Malfoy family and even Brutus Malfoy, the brother of Abraxas. No one seemed to bat an eye at the sight of the Dark Lord moving a stinking, near-dead body through the corridors. That was the state of things these days, and Voldemort quite liked it.

He entered his office again to find Bellatrix pacing anxiously, wringing her hands before her. Voldemort dropped the levitated body with a very deliberate thump, and Bellatrix breathed,

"Eugene Broadbent. I worked on him two months ago, did I not, My Lord?"

"You did, and the intelligence you gathered was extremely valuable. But as you can see, our dear Mr Broadbent is very nearly dead." Voldemort walked to stand behind Bellatrix, pushing her damp curls over one shoulder and touching his lips to her neck as he whispered. "Very nearly dead, but not quite. Do you see how his back still rises and falls with breath, Bella?"

She nodded silently, and for a moment they both stared at the filthy lump of humanity on the ground. Voldemort kissed Bellatrix's neck more deeply, and he reached inside her robes for her wand. He put it in her right hand, curling his fingers around hers and murmuring against her skin,

"Go ahead, Bella. Kill him."

She did not hesitate, and there was a satin finish of pleasure in her words as she raised her wand and said confidently, "Avada Kedavra!"

The blinding green flash that always accompanied that spell was Voldemort's very favourite colour. Bellatrix's hand shook as she lowered her wand, and her breath quickened with combined excitement and satisfaction. Voldemort flicked his own wand at the lifeless corpse and Vanished it into nonbeing. He put his hands on Bellatrix's waist and turned her around to face him. He smirked and said,

"You are the most wonderfully vicious witch I have ever met."

She grinned back at him and then shut her eyes for a moment as she said, "Thank you, My Lord."

She wasn't thanking him for the compliment about being vicious, he knew. She was thanking him for giving her that kill, for allowing her the release and happiness of finishing the job with Broadbent. And she was thanking him for making an effort to assuage her anger and concern over Andromeda.

Voldemort tucked his wand away, and whilst Bellatrix still had her eyes closed, he put a hand on either side of her jaw. He began to kiss her, roughly and cruelly like he always did. For some reason - a bizarre reason Voldemort couldn't figure - that severe, harsh, aggressive tone did not feel right. Not today, and he wasn't sure why. He stopped gnawing at her lips, stopped suckling hard at her tongue, and somehow the kiss morphed into something that had never happened between them.

It was almost gentle. It was two tongues dancing with one another in an elegant pavane, stroking carefully around sensitive areas. It was punctuated by soft kisses on lips, by his voice whispering against her, his breath warm. "Bella…"

One of her hands reached quite boldly up to his hair, which had begun to acquire a few strands of grey over the past three years. Her fingernails caressed his scalp, which felt so good that Voldemort found himself moaning against Bellatrix's lips. His own hand pulled her closer by the small of her back, and he could feel a steadily growing pulse of emotion between the both of them.

No! he barked at himself inside his head. He felt nothing for Bellatrix as a woman. He only cared about the her skill with torture, her undying loyalty toward him, and the way her body gave him pleasure. That was all. There was nothing else there. There could never be anything else there.

But then he whispered her name again, and even to his own ears he sounded a bit desperate. He forced himself to step back from her. He was hard in his trousers, but that was the very least of his concerns just now. His face felt hot, and he knew it was flushed red with much more than lust.

There could never be anything more than lust. He shut his eyes and licked his lips, steadying himself before he stood up straighter and stared down at Bellatrix. For her part, she was staring up at him as though he'd suddenly been Transfigured to be made of gold. But she knew, just as well as him, that something unusual and probably dangerous had just happened between them.

"Thank you for your diligent work extracting information from Eugene Broadbent. I am glad you were able to finish him off yourself," Voldemort said in a brisk, blank voice. "Give no more thought to the issue of your blood traitor sister. Now go home to your husband. As your lord and master, I command you to fulfill your marital duties with him tonight."

Bellatrix nodded, looking unsurprised about what he'd said, but confused over what had happened. She gave a formal, deep curtsy and said, "Thank you, My Lord. Good night."

He did not answer her; he only watched as she opened the door, walked out with a ramrod straight posture, and shut it behind her.

* * *

**November 1972**

**Castle Lestrange**

"Tell me where they are, you little bitch." Bellatrix took a step backward, swiping the back of her hand over her lips. She was tired, though she'd never admit that aloud, for she'd spent hours now interrogating her prisoner. Bellatrix eyed the red-haired girl who lay in a moaning, curled lump on the ground, and she pointed her bent wand as she hissed, "Your brothers Gideon and Fabian are known to be working against the Dark Lord, to be plotting against him with Dumbledore. Tell me where your brothers are, Peggy. Last chance."

Bellatrix had been closer in age with Gideon, Fabian, and Molly Prewett. Their younger sister, Peggy, was now a fifth-year Gryffindor at Hogwarts. She lay on the ground in her school uniform, for Bellatrix had kidnapped the girl during a Hogsmeade trip, using the Imperius Curse to guide her into a dark alley from which she used Side-Along Apparition and brought Peggy to Castle Lestrange. Now Peggy was curled on the rug in one of the parlours, heaving with sobs as she choked out,

"Honestly… I'm telling you… honestly… I've no idea where they are!"

"Liar!" Bellatrix shouted, and then she slashed her wand and cried, "Crucio!"

Peggy Prewett convulsed in random jerks of enormous pain. There was no blood. There never was with the Cruciatus Curse. It was a convenient bit of that spell, Bellatrix thought. Instead, Peggy just writhed and spasmed and screamed, her knuckles white as her fists balled desperately. Her pale, freckled face twisted and went red as the girl struggled to breathe through the torture. Bellatrix finally released the curse, and Peggy collapsed back to the ground, crying softly that she just wanted to go home.

"Home? Oh, yes. Home. Well. If we knew where your traitorous family was hiding, we might have a better idea of where 'home' is for the Prewetts just now. Tell me, Peggy. Tell me are Gideon and Fabian?" Bellatrix crouched down so that she was muttering the words close to Peggy's tear-streaked face. Peggy shook her head slowly and said in a miserable whine,

"I swear to you that I do not know."

Bellatrix felt her rage boil up inside her. She stood and prepared to cast the Cruciatus Curse again, but then she heard a low voice from behind her say,

"Let me try, Bellatrix."

She whirled around at the sound of his voice, her lips falling open at the sight of him. She'd not seen nor spoken to the Dark Lord in two months. She'd received orders from him via owl, which she had followed diligently, but ever since their strangely intimate kiss at Malfoy Manor, there had been physical distance between them.

Bellatrix's stomach hurt as he strode toward her. He was so devastatingly handsome, she thought, and she hadn't realised until just now how badly she'd missed him. She bowed her head respectfully as he walked by her, putting his hand upon her shoulder for a moment as he passed. Then he loomed over Peggy Prewett and said in a lazy tone,

"Legilimens."

There was a quiet moment then, as Peggy Prewett lay helpless and wounded, as the Dark Lord searched her mind. Bellatrix shifted on her feet behind him, feeling ashamed that she had spent hours torturing the girl with virtually nothing to show for it. After a while, Voldemort turned round and said calmly to Bellatrix,

"She has not seen Gideon or Fabian Prewett in six months. She knows nothing of their work with Dumbledore. She has not communicated with her parents since the start of term in September; that is deliberate on the family's part."

Bellatrix sighed heavily and nodded. "I tried, My Lord…"

"This girl has no information to give. No curse in the all the world would pull from her mind what you needed to know. She is useless." He turned over his shoulder, pointing his wand at Peggy Prewett's crying form, and he said casually, "Avada Kedavra."

There was a green flash of light, and then the girl's cries were silent and her body went limp where it lay. If they'd known where the Prewett family was hiding, they might package up some bits of Peggy Prewett and send them as a warning sign. But Bellatrix knew that the strongest sign this girl could send just now would be to have simply vanished from a Hogsmeade trip. Fear, especially fear from parents on behalf of their children, was a powerful motivator. So Bellatrix was unsurprised to hear Voldemort mutter, "Evanesco," and to see the corpse of Peggy Prewett Vanish into non-being.

Then they were alone in the parlour, and Bellatrix felt lost somewhere between shame, awe, and confusion. She pushed her messy black curls away from her face and stood in silence. The Dark Lord made his way over to the enormous raging fireplace that kept the November chill from permeating the stone walls. He stared into the flames and said quietly,

"You and I have not seen one another for some time."

"Two months, My Lord," Bellatrix acknowledged, sniffing a bit as she thought again of how badly she'd wanted to see him all that while.

"Do you know why it is, Bellatrix, that your orders have come via owl and not in person?"

Bellatrix opened her mouth to answer, but she was quite uncertain of what to say. He turned around and cocked an eyebrow up impatiently, and finally Bellatrix said, "Because of… because of the way I kissed you, My Lord, when last we were together. It was inappropriate of me, and I apologise."

He scoffed and reached up with the hand that held his wand, scratching a bit at the side of his hair. He shook his head and said sardonically,

"You put the blame solely on yourself. Why? It is because you adore me, and you want to be in my good favour."

"Of course I adore you, My Lord." Bellatrix wanted to walk over to where he stood, but instead she just wrung her hands and tried to keep her face steady. His was hard as stone, and so was his voice, as he said in a quiet, menacing tone,

"Sit."

She obeyed, sinking into a brocade wingback chair before the fire and staring up at him. The last time they'd been like this, with her in a chair and him standing, he'd made her strip and made her climax. Something told Bellatrix tonight would not turn out that way. A heavy pit of dread settled in her abdomen, and she tucked her wand away.

"You love me," Lord Voldemort said matter-of-factly. Again, Bellatrix nodded, trying desperately to sound logical as she said,

"Yes, My Lord. Of course I love you, and I shall always do what ask of me. I shall always be your most loyal, your most hard-working servant, and -"

"I am not speaking of the love a dog has for its master," Voldemort hissed. He stepped so close to the chair that Bellatrix had to crane her neck to look up at him. His gaze became quite meaningful then, and he said once more, "You love me. But you must not do such a thing. You are not permitted to do such a thing."

Bellatrix shut her eyes, feeling as though her life were over. He hated her. She heard her voice whisper, "Then, My Lord, I beg you to execute me, because I do not think I am capable of following those orders."

He did not answer for a long time. When Bellatrix finally opened her eyes and met his gaze, he was staring at her as though she were a thousand-carat diamond, as though she were a dangerous animal. The expression on his face was confusing, and Bellatrix swallowed heavily. Voldemort's voice was still icy as he said,

"The last time we kissed, you and I, I felt something weaken inside me. I felt something that made me weaker. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix shook her head no, for she honestly was not entirely sure what he meant. He took a half step toward her and said,

"Being in your presence weakens me. It threatens me. And what do I do to things that threaten me."

Now Bellatrix knew precisely what the expected answer was. "You destroy them," she said in a dry whisper.

Voldemort nodded. He raised his wand, and Bellatrix drew in what she was certain would be her last breath. He was going to kill her, to destroy her. And she deserved it. But instead of the Killing Curse, Voldemort drew his wand in a diagonal slash and said in an almost regretful tone,

"Contusio."

He did it five or six times in a row, and one by one the spells hit Bellatrix at different parts of her body. The wind was knocked straight out of her, for it was as though she'd been kicked in the chest by a giant, invisible boot. Her head whipped to the side as her jaw felt like she'd been punched, and she tasted blood in her mouth immediately. Her shoulder was invisibly beaten so hard that she thought for a moment it had been dislocated. Her thigh felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and her other knee felt kicked and seriously wounded. The final injury slammed her ribs, and Bellatrix finally buckled over and cried out in pain.

She cried like a child, unable to stop the shameful tears and heaving sobs. Everything hurt. Everything. Blood dropped from her mouth onto her lap, and Bellatrix reached up with a shaking hand to self-consciously wipe her lips. Every breath she took reinforced her assessment that she had cracked ribs, and her legs hurt so badly that she wondered if she would be able to walk. Her head spun, dizzy with pain and humiliation, but she heard the Dark Lord's voice as he said sternly,

"Rodolphus is on a mission in Wales and will not be back for another week. I will pass that time here. Meet me in your bedchamber in a half hour's time."

She heard his footsteps, heard the parlour door open and then shut again, and Bellatrix was left bleeding, crying, and bruised in the chair.

* * *

He could have used the Cruciatus Curse, which would have been far more painful than this, or he could have killed her. But, instead, he'd used a hex intended to simulate a physical beating. He'd needed to take out his anger on her somehow. He'd come to Castle Lestrange only because he knew that Bellatrix wouldn't be able to get useful information from Peggy Prewett. She would have killed the girl on her own, after long enough, but Voldemort had used that as an excuse to be near her again.

She was like a terrifying magnet, and at the sight of her, he'd felt an odd, uncomfortable stirring in his chest. Once they'd taken care of the Prewett girl, he'd been able to look her up and down again, and then all the want and admiration came crashing back over him like a wave. For months, he'd fended it off with distance. Now, he thought, he could snuff it out with violence.

But that hadn't worked according to plan. Lord Voldemort bore absolutely no compunction about invading the minds of others, about torturing them, or about killing them. In fact, he rather enjoyed all of that. But even as he'd cast the Contusio Hex onto Bellatrix, he'd felt the urge to vomit onto the rug. Never in all his life had Voldemort regretted being violent. Never had he regretted asserting his authority.

Until Bellatrix. Until the sight of her trembling fingers dragging blood from the lips that he knew tasted divine.

Now he stood in her bed chamber, stripped down to his trousers and undershirt, and he examined the space. He'd come here the night of her wedding and had claimed her for his own, though he knew Rodolphus had done the same quite a few times since. Rodolphus slept in separate chambers, Voldemort knew. This space belonged to Bella. He could feel her in her, in every thread of the carpet and every stone on the wall. He shut his eyes and tipped his forehead against the cool glass of the window, murmuring to himself,

"I will not become a fool over this."

Behind him, the heavy wooden door creaked open, and he knew Bellatrix had come into the room. The door shut, but Voldemort stayed looking out the window.

"My Lord," she said in a croaking voice tired from crying, "M-may I… May I take a shower, please?"

He waved his hand dismissively in the direction of her bathroom without turning around or speaking. After a moment, he couldn't help himself, and he turned his face just enough to see where she stood inside the en-suite. She'd left the door open and was struggling to pull off her robes. Moving was painful for her. That was obvious. An unfamiliar and unwelcome pang his Voldemort right in the stomach as Bellatrix pointed her wand at herself and quietly murmured spells to help her robes and undergarments fall to the stone floor.

Then he saw it - the full consequence of what he'd done to her in the parlour. There were already dark purple bruises, large and heavy, all over her. Her face was swollen, especially her lips and jaw. Her right shoulder looked a bit out of place. He watched as she set her wand down beside the sink and limped slowly to the shower. She turned on the spigot and managed to get into the large shower, pulling the stained glass door shut.

Voldemort's head spun. He had never regretted hurting anyone else. Not ever. He always felt better after killing than he did after an orgasm. There was nothing sweeter in all the world than watching the contortions on the face of a Cruciatus victim. But something awful had twisted and shattered inside him when he'd seen Bella's body, when he'd seen what he had done to her.

He licked his lips and whipped his undershirt off his head. He yanked off his trousers and underwear, grasped his wand, and strode quickly into the bathroom.

* * *

She shrieked when the shower door opened. She whirled around far too quickly, and suddenly the pain in her ribs and shoulder were debilitating. She caught a glimpse of the Dark Lord just as she lost her ability to stand, and then his strong hands were guiding her back up and pinning her against the stone wall. The hot water that came from the three shower heads kept them warm, at least, but the falling water made it difficult for Bellatrix to clearly see his face.

"I am not good at apologising," she heard him say, and she blinked through the water in confusion. He held her against the wall, carefully avoiding the injured spots. His voice shook like a twig in the wind as he continued, "In fact, I make it a practise in my life to never really apologise. But… this time, I am sorry."

Bellatrix was shocked to hear him say that, shocked to hear words like that come from his mouth. She had no idea what to say. She felt dizzy again, perhaps from the hot water and steam, or perhaps from what he'd said. She was even more confused when she heard him whisper the words again. I'm sorry, Bella, she heard him say. She was distantly aware of the feeling of something dragging lightly over her skin, over the areas that had been hurt. It was the tip of his wand, she realised. She heard him murmuring familiar healing spells - Episkeyand Curosallo and Reparifors.

He repeated the spells over and over, and Bellatrix could feel her wounds knitting themselves to rights. Her legs suddenly felt more steady, and breathing didn't hurt anymore. The last place he fixed was her jaw, and after he'd done that, he leaned down and put his mouth to hers.

Bellatrix sighed against him, surprised by the way he made no effort to push his tongue between her lips. He kissed her cheekbones, her collarbone, her shoulder, her jaw, and then her lips again. Bellatrix instinctively reached up to wrap her arms around his shoulders, and then all of a sudden her feet left the shower floor.

Perhaps he had used a nonverbal spell to make her weight lighter, or perhaps he was really just that strong, but it seemed like it took no effort as Lord Voldemort cradled Bellatrix in his arms. He whispered a few words, and the shower turned off. He looked Bellatrix in the eye and said firmly, "Siccalida."

Suddenly she was warm and dry, as though she'd never gotten into the shower at all. He carried her confidently from the bathroom, and Bellatrix never took her eyes from his, even though he stared resolutely ahead. He must have magically lightened her weight, Bellatrix thought, for he used one hand to pull back the heavy blankets on her bed. He placed her gingerly on the bed and climbed in beside her. He lay on his back and urged her to curl up alongside him. As he pulled the heavy blankets onto the both of them, Bellatrix tangled one leg with his. He laced his fingers through her hand and put them both on his abdomen, and she nestled her head against his chest.

She shut her eyes and could feel and hear his heartbeat. He was the most powerful wizard who had ever lived. He was her lord and master. He was an accomplished manipulator, a brilliant politician, and a recreational murderer. Just tonight, he had killed a fifteen-year-old girl. He had used magic to beat Bellatrix senseless, to punish her for making him feel emotion. But as Bellatrix shut her eyes and let his heartbeat lull her to sleep, she felt no pain at all. She felt only veneration, admiration. Love.

* * *

**December 1972**

**Wiltshire**

"My friends…" Voldemort walked around the emptied great hall in Malfoy Manor, nodding in acknowledgment to Macnair and Avery as he passed them. "Welcome. To each and every one of you, I bid you welcome, and I extend my gratitude for so quickly answering my call."

His lips were curled up a bit, for he knew what was coming. He had summoned this group, the ones he'd decided to call the Death Eaters, by activating a burning sensation upon their Dark Marks. They had felt such a summons before, but tonight was something special. They stood in a circle around Voldemort, who wrapped his fingers a bit more tightly around the handle of his wand and looked at the Stupefied body that lay in the very centre of the room.

"My friends," Voldemort said again, gesturing vaguely toward the man on his back, "Allow me to introduce you to Philo Campbell. Until quite recently, Mr Campbell pretended to sympathise with our cause. He went undetected because he maintained careful distance from me. He knew, you see, how very easily I can see the truth in people's minds."

A low rumble of laughter, half-nervous and half-approving, rippled around the circle of Death Eaters. Voldemort eyed the man on the ground, a man in his mid-thirties with wild blond hair, and he continued quietly,

"Philo Campbell, my friends, has spent the past five months feeding information to Albus Dumbledore and company. Most of it was useless. Some of it was damaging. One bit of information got on of our own killed."

He raised his eyes to Abraxas Malfoy, whose jaw hardened as he nodded once. The casualty had been Brutus Malfoy, killed by an Auror in a duel after he was tracked down by Philo Campbell. The Aurors - those few who still vehemently opposed Voldemort - had been authorised by Minister for Magic Eugenia Jenkins to use Unforgivables against Death Eaters. When Philo Campbell had learned of Brutus Malfoy's location, he had fed that information through an insidious chain.

Now Brutus Malfoy was dead, and Philo Campbell lay motionless upon the floor in Malfoy Manor.

"When I call upon you," Voldemort said, casting his eyes around the circle of his followers, "I want you to cast a hex at this ridiculous excuse for a wizard. Be creative… let's make this entertaining, shall we? No Unforgivables. Not yet. We shall get there, Bella…"

He said that last bit when Bellatrix's face crumpled in disappointment. He'd softened his words just a bit for her, and her grumpy face instantly lit up. Voldemort smirked and pointed his wand at his prisoner. A little red glow emerged from the tip of his wand as he murmured, "Rennervate."

Philo Campbell began to rouse from his Stupefied state. He sat up slowly and looked around the room, an expression of dread crossing his pale features. He seemed to realise quickly what was going on, but before he could speak, Voldemort turned to Mullo Selwyn. His voice was a sharp bite as he said,

"Selwyn. You first."

Mullo Selwyn jabbed his black wand at Campbell and barked, "Ossaquasso!"

Campbell cried out in surprise and pain as his back slumped and his head tipped. Selwyn's hex was a spell that weakened the bones, causing them to partially dissolve inside the victim. Voldemort nodded in approval. He'd taught Selwyn that spell himself; he'd created it back when he'd been Tom Riddle.

"Malfoy," Voldemort said, flicking his eyes to Abraxas. The blond man seemed more than ready to exact vengeance upon the man who had gotten his brother killed. His face twisted into an ugly snarl and purple sparks exploded through the air as Abraxas hissed,

"Maldecap Maxima!"

Philo Campbell reached slowly up to his head, his weakened fingers tangling in his blond curls as his eyes wrenched shut. He moaned softly, pleading for mercy as an intolerable headache washed over him. Voldemort turned to Rodolphus Lestrange, trying to keep his eyes off the man's wife as he nodded that it was Rodolphus' turn. Rodolphus raised his wand and said smoothly,

"Persodenti."

A white sliver of light shot from Rodolphus' wand and crashed against Philo Campbell's mouth. At once, all the man's teeth fell out, pattering onto the carpet as the prisoner yelped in shock and agony. The Death Eaters chuckled at the sight of the prisoner's teeth falling out. Voldemort turned to Conrad Yaxley and said in an artificially kind tone,

"Be gentle with him, Yaxley. This is his last easy hex."

Yaxley smirked and slashed his wand through the air, his voice tremulous as he said, "Contusio."

Voldemort frowned then, watching as Philo Campbell finally toppled over as Yaxley's spell simulated a mighty punch to the gut. Voldemort disliked that hex nowadays, now that it made him think of the time he'd used it on Bella. He scowled, staring at the way Philo Campbell lay in a pathetic heap. He had lost his teeth, his bones were dissolving, his head was about to explode with pain, and he'd been invisibly punched in the abdomen. But it wasn't enough. Voldemort stared at the blond wizard, the man who had spied for Dumbledore inside these ranks, and he suddenly knew exactly where to turn to find his satisfaction.

"Bella."

He turned to face her, striding the three steps to close the gap between them. Suddenly he wanted Rodolphus and all the rest of them to see how Bellatrix's notorious cruelty gave him such pleasure. He stroked at Bellatrix's jaw with his knuckles, and beside her, Rodolphus' cheeks reddened. Voldemort knew he was balancing the line here; if he embarrassed Rodolphus too much, he risked the man's loyalty. So he limited himself to a careful stroke of Bellatrix's jaw, watching her eyes go wide as they locked on his.

"Now it is time for the real curses," he said, loudly enough for the whole circle to hear him over Philo Campbell's incessant moaning. "Bellatrix… my most skilled interrogator… make this worm of a man feel pain he did not know was possible. Then kill him."

"It will be an honour, My Lord," Bellatrix said, proudly tipping her head up. She took a few steps forward and aimed her wand steadily at Philo Campbell. Voldemort watched her face as she summoned all her power. Her full lips curled into a serene little smile, as though she was never more at peace than in moments like this. Her voice sliced through the air even more sharply than her actual spell. "Crucio!"

A scarlet web of light wrapped around Philo Campbell, and Bellatrix's dark eyes flashed with unmitigated glee. The man, already toothless and broken, writhed and shrieked and convulsed. Some of the earlier subtle mirth from the circle evaporated; even the most committed Death Eaters generally disliked witnessing the Cruciatus Curse. Bellatrix's version of it was especially strong, among the strongest Voldemort had ever seen. He turned whilst she tortured Campbell, and he gave Rodolphus Lestrange a half smile.

"Your wife is quite talented, isn't she?"

Rodolphus laughed nervously, a little too loudly, and nodded. "That she is, My Lord."

Voldemort kept himself from rolling his eyes. Where Bellatrix was loyal because of her own inherent and deep darkness, Rodolphus was loyal for the same reason as the rest of the lot. Voldemort watched Bellatrix again, watched her chest heave as her breath accelerated. She was getting tired, Voldemort could tell. Casting the Cruciatus with the vigour she did was exhausting. He stepped up beside her, put his hand on her left shoulder, and muttered quietly,

"Finish him off."

Bellatrix yanked her wand back obediently, releasing the Cruciatus Curse. Philo Campbell twitched and groaned as saliva and blood leaked from his lips. Bellatrix cleared her throat and took a deep breath, recharging her magical strength. Then her wand tore through the air and she lurched forward as her voice echoed from the walls of the room.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The flash of green light was quick and blinding, terrible and wonderful. Voldemort squeezed Bellatrix's shoulder and leaned down to whisper in her ear,

"I want you in my office in two hours."

He pushed her gently back toward her husband and moved to loom over the corpse of Philo Campbell. He kicked his shoe at the dead man's blond curls and said in a casual voice,

"Carrow. Come here."

Hadley Carrow, a thin witch in her early forties, walked with brisk steps to stand on the other side of Campbell's body. She nodded deferentially to Voldemort, who said,

"Work with Avery and Macnair… I want this body waiting in Eugenia Jenkins' office for her when she arrives for work tomorrow morning. Show the Minister for Magic just what becomes of her employees when they defy me."

"Of course, My Lord." Hadley Carrow levitated the body with her wand, and she walked from the great hall with Avery and Macnair so they could move quickly to plant the corpse in Eugenia Jenkins' office.

"The rest of you," Voldemort said, looking around the circle. "The rest of you will realise that we are now engaged in all-out war. War against Squibs and Mudbloods who think themselves our equals. War against blood traitors, and against those who would watch the wizarding world decay and burn, and call it Progress."

He paced around the circle slowly, making eye contact with people he passed.

"Yaxley," he said softly, "are you with me in this war?"

"I am with you to the very end, My Lord," Yaxley nodded. Voldemort continued, asking each of them to vocalise their loyalty. He came before Rodolphus Lestrange and asked the same question he'd asked each of the other Death Eaters.

"I am your devoted servant, My Lord," Rodolphus affirmed. Voldemort nodded crisply and flicked his eyes to Bellatrix.

"Unto death or worse, My Lord," Bellatrix said softly. "To the grave or to triumph. I will give all that I possess so that you achieve what you are due."

Her eloquent, if cloying, response had been the most sincere of them all. He knew she was telling the truth. She would kill, steal, destroy, create for him. She would suffer the exact fate Philo Campbell had tonight, and she would die with a smile if she were dying for Voldemort. He nodded at her, keeping his face steady, and turned back to address the full congregation.

"Be prudent on this New Year's Eve," he commanded them. "Our enemies will come when we least expect them. Be always at the ready. I forbid excessive drinking or revelry, even on a holiday like today. The present circumstances do not allow for such foolishness. Am I understood?"

There were murmurs of assent, nods of heads, and Voldemort sniffed and said in the warmest voice he could manage,

"Happy New Year, my friends."

* * *

"Enter."

Bellatrix sighed as she pushed open the door to the Dark Lord's office. She wasn't certain entirely why she'd been called here privately. Over the past month, she'd only seen him for those few days that he'd stayed in Castle Lestrange. That had been an odd time, a balancing act of deference and physical intimacy that had seemed like had confused them both. Bellatrix had been busy the past month tracking down the Prewett family. She'd finally found them, and a little battle had ensued at their seaside hideaway. Gideon Prewett had been killed by Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix's brother-in-law, but the rest of the family had escaped and was now missing again.

Now Bellatrix stepped into the office and saw the Dark Lord sitting in one of the chairs before the fireplace. She crumpled her brows a little when she saw a small plate with two miniature cakes upon it, along with two goblets of elf-made wine. Bellatrix shut the door behind her, and she heard it lock and then felt a vibration as Voldemort warded it. Bellatrix stood still where she was, until her master said calmly,

"Losing teeth. A bad headache. All very tame, wasn't it? Until it was your turn."

Bellatrix nodded and took a few steps toward him. "I hope that my curses were carried out adequately, My Lord. I hope that I pleased you."

There was a double entendre there that Bellatrix didn't realise until after she'd spoken. But Voldemort smirked knowingly and gestured to the chair opposite him. Bellatrix sat, meeting his dark eyes and feeling more calm than she usually did around him.

"Do you know what today is, Bella?"

She frowned. Wasn't the answer to that question obvious? She nodded and said cautiously, "It is New Year's Eve, My Lord."

"It is," he said, shrugging. "More importantly, it is my birthday."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. She was unaccustomed to him sharing any personal information at all. She knew nothing of where he'd grown up. She did not know his favourite color, or whether he enjoyed watching Quidditch. The Dark Lord kept himself distant, as a human man, from his followers on purpose. She knew that. It was key to making them all understand that he existed on a different plane than the rest of them.

For some reason, Bellatrix had never considered that her lord and master had a birthday. Of course it made perfect sense, but it still felt like more momentous news than it ought to have been. She knew better than to ask him how old he was. Judging by the little threads of grey in his hair, the first hints of wrinkling around his eyes, she would have guessed that he was in his mid-forties. And she knew that Abraxas Malfoy had attended Hogwarts with the man who would become Lord Voldemort. Malfoy was in his mid-forties, so it -

"Today is my forty-sixth birthday," Voldemort said smoothly, as though he'd crept into Bellatrix's mind and had seen her manic thoughts. She forced a smile, uneasy and crooked, onto her lips, and she whispered,

"Happy birthday, My Lord. I only wish I had known, so that I might have procured a suitable gift for you."

He baffled her by not answering and instead pulling one of the little cakes from the plate on the table and popping it into his mouth. He chewed it carefully, elegantly, and picked up a goblet of wine to wash it down. Once he'd done that, he said firmly,

"Eat the cake and drink the wine, Bella. To honour my birthday."

Suddenly Bellatrix felt quite certain that there was some sort of potion, some terrible poison, hidden inside the cake. But she could not - would not - disobey him. Not ever. So she picked up the little cake with shaking fingers and put it in her mouth. It was rich and sweet, vanilla cake with a strawberry cream in the centre. It didn't taste like poison, but, then, a great many poisons were undetectable. Bellatrix picked up the goblet of wine and stared at it, thinking back to how she'd used hemlock to murder Madrigal Bones a few years earlier. Was there hemlock in this wine? It didn't matter; he'd ordered her to drink it.

So Bellatrix drank deeply, downing the entire goblet in four or five ungraceful gulps. She set the empty goblet down on the table and looked up. Voldemort's stony face softened a little in the firelight, and he said in a strange tone,

"I gave you every indication to be suspicious. To think that you would die from eating that cake and drinking that wine. Yet you followed my orders without hesitation."

"I always will, My Lord," Bellatrix promised, still not sure whether she would actually live to see the year 1973.

"Come here," he said quietly, and Bellatrix rose from her chair to walk to him. When she stood before him, he pulled his wand out and pointed it at Bellatrix. He uttered in a lazy tone, "Sitnuda… Stolas Plegar."

Bellatrix gasped softly as her elegant, midnight blue gown and black outer bustier unfastened themselves and were stripped away from her body. Her brassiere and her knickers followed. Bellatrix stumbled and writhed as her clothes forced themselves off of her limbs. The clothes floated to Voldemort's desk, where they folded themselves neatly into a little pile. Her wand set itself down on the low table. Bellatrix stood before him, unexpectedly naked, and resisted the urge to cover any bit of herself.

"It is my birthday," Lord Voldemort said again, his voice heavy and meaningful, "and you will give me a gift."

His long fingers set his wand on the table and moved to begin opening his outer robe. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, felt her heart race, felt her knees go weak. She watched in aroused fascination as he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. Then his fingers moved to the placket of his trousers, and Bellatrix felt faint with want.

He pulled himself out, his cock thick and long in his hand as he edged his trousers down a bit. He stroked himself a few times and gave Bellatrix a hard stare as he said,

"I will sit here, and you will do the work. Do you understand?"

She nodded and carefully positioned herself on the chair with him. There was just enough room on the chair for her slim legs to hug around his hips, and she reached down between them to guide him to her entrance. She sank down and moaned quietly as she stretched to accommodate him. A distant part of her mind thought how much bigger the Dark Lord was than Rodolphus.

Voldemort chuckled, and he said in a low, mirthful tone, "Poor Rodolphus… that you should think of your husband like that while another man is inside of you."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot as she realised he could yank thoughts from her mind whenever he wanted. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, dragging a thumb over her nipple. Bellatrix struggled to breathe, but she managed to choke out,

"You are not just 'another man,' My Lord. You are… ungh. You are my master, my…"

She couldn't finish her sentence then, because he'd seized her waist with his hands and had urged her to begin moving up and down. Bellatrix did, leaning forward against him as she swayed her hips up and down her length. It was instinct, pure and simple, that made her bury her face into the crook of his neck and reach a hand up to his jaw. She'd never really touched him here, not like this. There was a tiny bit of scruff, scratchy and very human beneath Bellatrix's fingertips. She felt her walls twitch around him a bit, felt her whole body pulsing with how good this felt, and she began to kiss his neck.

She would be punished for this gall, she thought. The way she was dragging her tongue up from the collar of his shirt to the sensitive place beneath his ear. She would be punished for the way one hand stroked his face while the other caressed his arm through his sleeve. She was being clingy and intimate, and she'd seen how much he disliked that behaviour from her. But he was throbbing inside her, his cock swelling as she pumped her hips slowly against him.

"Everyone else tonight had to cast silly little hexes," she heard him say in a breathy murmur. "Silly little spells made for dueling clubs. But not you, Bella. I gave you a gift, didn't I? I let you inflict your beautiful pain on him, stronger than the others' pain. I let you kill him. Didn't I?"

She nodded against his neck, remembering the flush of delight that had come over her when she'd tortured and then killed the insidious spy Campbell. Suddenly she felt the Dark Lord's hands caressing her bare back, his fingers running up her spine and making her shiver. Bellatrix's hips stilled, for she couldn't move when he was touching her like this. His hands moved all the way up her neck until his fingers burrowed into her dark curls. He pulled her head from his neck and yanked her mouth against his.

Bellatrix forced herself to keep pumping against him as they kissed. It was too much - the feeling of his cock filling her and then leaving her and doing it all over again, the feel of his tongue invading her mouth. She had to pull away to breathe, and their breath mingled in frantic pants as they both neared the apex.

"On the rug," Voldemort said abruptly. "Lie on your back on the rug. Now."

He sounded almost as though he was in pain. Bellatrix moved as quickly as she could, scrambling awkwardly off the chair and lying on the rug. It wasn't thick enough to mask the uncomfortably hard stone beneath, but she knew that comfort didn't matter to the Dark Lord just now. He stood quickly from the chair and began yanking his clothes off, one piece at a time. He hurriedly kicked off his shoes, dragged his trousers down, and shucked his robe. He yanked at his cufflinks, which pinged against the stone wall as they went flying.

His fingers shook fiercely as he rushed to unbutton his shirt. He fumbled with the tiny formal buttons, and he mumbled frustratedly, "Bloody hell." Bellatrix impulsively reached for her wand and pointed it at Voldemort.

"Aperire," she said, her voice unsure. His buttons flew open, and his high cheekbones went red as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it away. He moved to hover above Bellatrix on the hard ground, parting her legs and dragging his fingers over her sodden entrance.

"You killed for me tonight. Skillfully, like you always do."

Bellatrix nodded, unable to speak through the feel of his fingers twisting into her. She shut her eyes and listened to his own breathing, unexpectedly rickety. His fingers were replaced by the fullness of his cock, and Bellatrix groaned and drove her head against the unforgiving ground. She arched up as he pushed into her, and she felt one of his hands go to the small of her back.

She liked when he touched her here. He'd done it the very first night they'd ever met, at that Christmas Party years earlier. Every time they'd danced, he'd touched her here. He'd put his hand on this spot to draw her nearer to him, to keep her from falling. The feel of his fingers splayed there, on the small of her back, made Bella's closed eyes sear with tears.

He was pistoning himself into her more slowly than she'd expected. He was taking his time with sex, something he rarely did. His voice sounded very close as he mumbled firmly, "Open your eyes and look at me, Bella."

She did, meeting his glittering black gaze. He ground their hips together just so, and she uttered a wordless plea for completion. Her hands flew up, entirely of their own accord, and held fast to his chiseled face.

"Mine.. aren't you?" he panted, bucking his hips hard a few times. There was still a bite in his tone, but he sounded less in control of himself than he usually did. He lowered his face to Bellatrix's, her hands still on his cheeks, and he mumbled against her lips, "You would die a thousand deaths for me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would, My Lord. A hundred thousand of the most painful deaths… all for you," Bellatrix said, just before her ability to speak was lost to her climax. She shuddered and clamped around him, her eyes wrenching shut as she felt his lips on hers. He was pumping his seed into her, she could tell. He groaned loudly into her mouth, and his cock twitched inside her as he finished. She would have thought he'd pull away then, that he would briskly dress and send her off like he usually did. But he kept kissing her, even as he softened inside her and his fluids leaked obscenely out of her onto the rug.

He had been concerned, months earlier, that a kiss they'd shared had been too personal, too gentle and emotional. But this kiss was ten times more intimate than that one had been. They were a tangled, sweaty mess upon the floor, and there was nothing rough about the way he kissed her now. He drew his tongue along the roof of her mouth, suckled carefully at her lip, and moaned softly when she did the same to him. Her fingers tightened on his face, and her thumbs stroked beneath his eyes.

His skin was soft there, which surprised Bellatrix very much. He always seemed so very hard, like he was made of ice or stone or both. But she could feel the scruff that would need shaving in the morning, and she could feel the soft skin beneath his eyes. And she could taste him, warm and spicy, as his mouth made love to her just as passionately as his other parts had done.

There was a little buzz inside Bellatrix's head, and she suddenly realised he had used Legilimency to see her thoughts. She pushed forward the most powerful sentiments in her head.

I love you like none of the rest of them ever could. You are everything to me; without you, I am nothing. Without you, my life has no purpose. I am yours. Forever. I will kill anyone and everyone for you. I live and die for you alone. Do with me what you will. I submit myself to you. Forever.

Voldemort groaned and deepened the kiss, yanking air in through his nose in desperation. It went on forever, or at least it felt like forever. He was completely soft now, and though he pulled himself from her body, he did not stop kissing her. He'd said before that it made him feel weak to be physical with Bellatrix. But she could tell this - this, lying on the cold hard ground after taking her, kissing her, seeing her devotion in her mind - was making him stronger.

Finally, he broke away and pulled back from Bellatrix's body. Her lips felt bruised from the long, powerful kiss, but she quite liked the feeling.

He extended a hand to help her up. Bellatrix took it and rose on shaking legs. She glanced down to the rug and saw the little wet mess they'd left behind. She reached for her wand and cast a nonverbal tergeo to clean it up. Meanwhile, Voldemort started pulling his clothes back on and said quietly,

"You should return to Castle Lestrange. I do not doubt your husband's loyalty to me, but he has always been a bit too liberal with drink on celebratory nights. Ensure that he is clear-headed."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded firmly. She took her clothes from his desk and pulled them on, finishing by clasping the buckles of her stylised bustier. She made for the door, watching as Voldemort took a seat at his desk and dragged his fingers through his hair. He was almost visibly energised, and Bellatrix felt a smile cross her face. She put one hand on the doorknob and said politely, "Happy birthday, My Lord."

He stared at her for a solid two seconds, quirking up his mouth and saying quite meaningfully, "Thank you, Bella. Goodnight."

* * *

**March 1973**

**Castle Lestrange**

Bellatrix poked her fork around her roasted potatoes, sighing heavily as her stomach churned.

"Would you like me to have the house-elves prepare you something else?" she heard Rodolphus ask, but Bellatrix shook her head.

"Just not hungry," she said. Rodolphus looked concerned, and he tipped his head a bit as he asked,

"There's nothing else wrong?"

Bellatrix huffed and shut her eyes. "You know Rabastan and I tracked Fabian Prewett, Caradoc Dearborn, and Emmeline Vance all the way to the Outer Hebrides. That was an exhausting battle, Rodolphus. And they escaped. What do you want from me? I'm tired. That's all."

She had snapped at him, she knew, but he just nodded. Then he drew in breath and held it, and he hesitated for a moment before he said, "There was paperwork filed today… in the Ministry's Registry of Births, Deaths, and Marriages."

Bellatrix quickly counted months in her head, and suddenly she knew what Rodolphus was going to say. She silently dared him to go ahead and say it. He did, his voice shaking a little.

"A baby, born slightly premature but healthy three days ago to Edward and Andromeda Tonks. A girl. Nymphadora."

Bellatrix shrugged and scoffed. "Why should I care about the name of a mewling brat squeezed out by the wife of a Mudblood?" she demanded. "None of them are any relation of mine, so I fail to see why I should care at all."

The dining room went still and quiet then, and Rodolphus nodded.

"You're right, of course," he said finally, resuming his own eating.

Suddenly an awful pain seized Bellatrix's abdomen. She grasped at the edge of the table and hissed through her teeth, trying to breathe as Rodolphus tossed his cutlery down and came dashing around the table. The cramping intensified until breathing was almost impossible. Bellatrix wrapped her arms around her loose-fitting robes and felt the gentle swell of her belly beneath. It ached so terribly that she wondered if someone had hexed her without her knowing. Then there was an abrupt and almost violent rush of moisture between Bellatrix's legs, and her mind began to panic.

She felt Rodolphus heaving her from the chair and start to guide her from the dining room. She was dizzy and leaned heavily on him, hearing him bark at Mawky to clean up the blood from the Madam's chair and from the floor. She heard him tell her he was going to fetch a healer at once. Then Bellatrix fainted, for the first time in her life, collapsing into Rodolphus' arms as the pain ripped her apart from the inside.

* * *

"Enter." Voldemort finished writing his letter of gratitude and condolence to the wife of Mullo Selwyn, who had been killed in a duel with an Auror the previous week. He barely glanced up from his desk as Rodolphus Lestrange appeared in the threshold of his office. He stepped in and closed the door very quietly behind him.

"This had best be very important, Lestrange," Voldemort said sharply. "As you're well aware, it's been a difficult week. I've many urgent matters to attend to, so -"

"With all due respect, My Lord, I do think you will find this to be urgent."

Rodolphus had interrupted him, and Voldemort felt his eyebrows go up in surprise at the uncharacteristic boldness. He gestured to the seat opposite him, and Rodolphus sat down, his face peaky. He licked his lips and struggled for a moment to find the words to say, until Voldemort said rather harshly,

"If it is so urgent, Lestrange, then tell me."

Rodolphus closed his eyes and said in a tremulous voice, "I thought you should know, My Lord, that Bellatrix suffered a miscarriage last night. She was… the pregnancy was much further along than I'd have anticipated."

Voldemort felt his blood go cold, felt his stomach quiver strangely, but said in an emotionless voice, "How far along?"

"Fifteen weeks, My Lord."

Voldemort's mouth fell open then. He counted weeks in his mind and realised it had been New Year's Eve. His birthday. He swallowed hard, forcing his face to stay very steady as he said,

"She ought to have informed me of her condition. I would not have had her fighting a battle in the Outer Hebrides. Surely you knew she was with child; why did you not tell me?"

Rodolphus gnawed hard on his bottom lip and said cautiously, "I confess to ignorance on the matter, My Lord. I did not know she was expecting; she'd done quite a good job concealing any sickness, and she'd been wearing loose robes. I… I was not with her, not in that way, anywhere near the conception. So I thought…" He looked utterly terrified then, his face going chalk white. "I thought you would want to know, My Lord."

Voldemort's head whirled with confused, competing sensations. He decided to yank 'indignance' from the maelstrom in his mind, and he said in threatening murmur to Rodolphus,

"You wanted me to know. Is that because Bellatrix will be out of commission until she heals, or is it because you think you know something about the child's parentage?"

Rodolphus said nothing at all, and Voldemort thought quickly, Legilimens.

He was inside Rodolphus' mind in an instant. He could feel and see exactly what he was looking for. Rodolphus knew that Bellatrix had miscarried the Dark Lord's baby. He had suspected since he'd first married Bellatrix that she was regularly engaged in sexual relations with the Dark Lord. He felt no jealousy or anger about it, but he did wonder how many mistresses the Dark Lord had, and -

"What I do with my personal time is precisely none of your business." Voldemort hissed the words as his hands balled into fists on his desk. The reality was that he hadn't been with anyone but Bellatrix in years. But he wasn't about to tell that to Rodolphus Lestrange. He put his fingers to his temple and took a deep breath.

"Where is she now?"

"She is at home, My Lord, resting comfortably. Healer Savery came from St. Mungo's straight away and… extracted the foetus. She is sedated, for now, to stave off the pain and the… the tears. She was understandably distraught. Her mother is with her, administering medicines when they are due. Healer Savery gave her a potion for the pain, another to keep her sedated, and she's lying on a magically absorbent pad that will…"

Rodolphus' face went from white to beet red then, as he realised he was sharing entirely too many gory details with his lord and master. But Voldemort needed to know what was happening. He flicked his eyes to the pile of paperwork to his right, the drudgery that came along with administrative leadership. Well, he reckoned, he would just need to go without sleep tonight. The next few hours couldn't be spent here in this office; he wouldn't be able to focus.

It wasn't as though he'd ever needed or wanted an heir. He intended on immortality; he'd crafted Horcruxes for the precise purpose. Either Bellatrix had neglected her contraceptive spells, or some force beyond either of their reckoning had willed his seed to take hold within her. Either way, that cold night on his birthday, he'd put a child in her belly. Now that child was gone. And Voldemort had absolutely no idea how he was meant to feel about such a thing.

He pushed himself up from his chair and jerked his head toward the door. Rodolphus followed him like a loyal dog through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, down the grand staircase and out through the gardens until they reached the Apparition point. Voldemort whirled hard to his right, and when his body had been sucked and pinched through the void, he came to in the foyer of Castle Lestrange.

* * *

"Bellatrix, dear… the Dark Lord himself is here to see you. Do you suppose you can sit up? Please, darling, you can't look weak now…"

Bellatrix blinked slowly. Everything was just rather pleasant now, thanks to the Anodyne Draught they were giving her. She knew, intellectually, that she was still bleeding heavily and was wrapped in pads and blankets that had been enchanted to absorb and erase the blood. She knew that her womb, which had begun to swell with the presence of the Dark Lord's child, was empty. Naked of his eternal imprint on her. She knew that. And she had been inconsolable, those first hours when she knew what was happening and had not yet been sedated.

She had fought in the Outer Hebrides, risking her own life and her child's, because she'd been ordered to do so. But even up there, she had felt the first cringe-inducing cramps, the first swells of headache and nausea, the first signs that it was all over.

Now she lay in her bed, a spill-proof canteen of water beside her, from which her fussing mother was ordering her to sip regularly. Now Druella dragged her fingers through Bellatrix's curls, trying to make her look decent. Bellatrix blinked again, her eyes seeming very heavy as she heard Druella say,

"They're about to come in, Bellatrix, and then I must go home. Your father wants to hear how you're doing. Be well."

Then she was gone, and Bellatrix turned to look out the window beside her bed. It was raining harder now than it had been doing before. Each raindrop seemed to kiss and caress the glass as it tumbled downward, and she was transfixed by the sight. She didn't hear the door open, but she was distantly aware of a few murmured comments between her husband and him. The Dark Lord. The father of her child. The child that was gone.

Everything suddenly crashed onto her again, and Bellatrix started to shake and cry as she watched the raindrops falling. A pewter spoon with pale green goop inside it appeared before her, held by Rodolphus' hands, and she didn't question him as he dosed her with more Anodyne Draught. She heard Voldemort's voice ask sharply,

"Is the healer entirely certain that she should be so very drugged?"

"My Lord, if you had seen her when she realised what had happened… I assure you that we are following all medical orders to the letter. Healer Savery says that she will be fit for duty again within a few -"

"Leave, Rodolphus." Voldemort's voice had the sting of salt sprinkled on a bloody wound. Rodolphus planted a light kiss on Bellatrix's forehead, and she thought she saw him leaving. She couldn't be sure. The Anodyne was sinking heavily into her veins now, and she closed her eyes. It was too much effort to keep them open. There was a soft pressure on the bed, and she heard the voice of the man she loved more than life itself ask,

"Why did you not tell me?"

"My Lord…" Bellatrix said, feeling her lips curl up at the sound of his voice. But he asked again, more sternly,

"Why, Bella? Why did you lie to me?"

She hadn't lied; she had merely omitted information. But she knew, very distantly, what he meant. For months she had known she bore his child. She had continued to carry out interrogations and executions for him. She had hunted down Dumbledore's allies, Voldemort's enemies, and she had battled them fiercely. And all the while she'd never said a word about his child that grew within her. She felt tears leak from her eyes, but she kept them shut. She felt a buzzing inside her head as he pushed his way in with Legilimency.

He pulled forth a memory that caused Bellatrix all manner of mental torment.

It was the day she'd realised how late her monthly bleeding was. She'd forgotten to cast her monthly contraceptive spell, and she had not bled. She was pacing in her bathroom, waiting for a pregnancy testing potion to process her drop of blood. When it had gone from cloudy grey to midnight blue, Bellatrix had panicked. She was pregnant. With his child, with the child of her lord and master, with the child of Lord Voldemort. She had put her hands to her still-flat abdomen and had choked out a confused little cry. Part of her was elated at the thought of bearing him an heir. The other part of her thought that if she told him, he would kill her and the child with her. She would tell him eventually, she'd vowed. She would tell the Dark Lord, and she would tell Rodolphus. But in the meantime, she would continue following her orders. The weeks ticked by, and still she never told a soul. She made every effort to hide it when her belly began to grow. She was frightened and unsure, and -

"Bella." His voice was much closer then, and she felt him lace his fingers through hers. "Open your eyes, Bella."

She did, with immense effort. His face descended to hers, and his lips brushed against hers so gently that she wondered if she'd imagined the kiss. One of his hands touched her tender abdomen, and he said in a steady voice,

"You should have told me."

"I'm so sorry," she managed to murmur, still feeling his lips near hers. Everything was spinning; everything was dizzying and confusing, and she could not help but let her eyes flutter shut again.

"I will need your help, when you're well, as we get more giants on our side. Golgomath is bringing half the colony from Scandinavia to join our ranks. I will need you to help the others understand how to utilise the giants most effectively. Do you understand?"

His voice was sharp, and he'd pulled away from her to speak. Bellatrix was not entirely sure that she did understand, because he'd spoken quickly and her brain felt full of cotton wool. But she nodded and whispered,

"The very moment I am able to walk properly, My Lord… I shall be fighting again."

"I know." He was stroking her hair then, she thought. Or perhaps it had been her mother earlier who had done that. Surely the Dark Lord would never touch her quite this gently. The feel of his hand comforting her contrasted with his words as he said,

"Now was not the right time for any of this to happen. I need you as my soldier, not as a mother. Not now."

Not now. Did that mean that perhaps someday he might need her as a mother? Bellatrix's head spun and she just nodded again. Then she felt his lips on hers again, pressing lightly as his hands soothed her cheeks and forehead. His lips moved just a few inches away, and he murmured in a voice that was oddly shaky in tone,

"You… Bella, you are my most competent soldier, my most devoted servant. I would never have killed you over this. But you should have told me. I am your master. I am Lord Voldemort. I have earned the right to know that you had conceived my heir. Do you understand?"

"You are angry." Bellatrix nodded, forcing her eyes open again. His own dark eyes glistened much more than usual, and his mouth was pinched tightly. He shook his head and said again,

"I would not have killed you. Not over this."

She studied his face, her mind clouded entirely now by the sedating effects of the Anodyne Potion. She reached a hand up uncertainly and brushed her thumb over his jaw, over the scruff there.

"You need a shave," she mumbled, and he covered his hand with hers and kissed her knuckles.

"I am glad they've made you comfortable," he said briskly, putting her hand down on the blankets and moving elegantly off the bed. He adjusted his robes and nodded, saying again, "I will need you as my soldier when you're well. Not until then; you are permitted as much time to heal as you need. But when you are ready, I will need you."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded once, for that was all she could manage. She tipped her head back against her pillow and said again, "I'm so very sorry."

"Stop it. Stop saying that. What a stupid thing to apologise for," he snapped. His high cheekbones went a bit pink, and his voice was quieter as he said, "You've nothing to be sorry for; it was an accident of nature, the whole lot of it. I am not angry with you. I…"

He stopped then, shutting his eyes, and Bellatrix spoke then in a way she would never have done if she weren't so very drugged.

"I love you, My Lord. With the power of a thousand suns."

He nodded and mumbled, "I know. You are my very best lieutenant, Bella. I look forward to you being yourself again."

He took a half step toward the door, and then suddenly lurched back toward the bed to place one last kiss on Bellatrix's lips. Then he was gone, having strode quickly from the door without any more farewell. Bellatrix stared at the closed door for a long moment, and then she turned her attention again to the raindrops cascading down the window pane.

* * *

**June 1973**

**No. 12 Grimmauld Place, London**

It wasn't the dour, gloomy part of today's gathering that bothered Bellatrix. It was all the forced socialising. Weddings and funerals were notorious for breeding awkward conversations between tangentially-related individuals, and this was no exception.

Members of the Black Family had gathered today for the funeral of Irma Black, the matriarch of the living Black clan. Irma, née Crabbe, was Bellatrix's paternal grandmother and had ruled over her extended family like a sovereign queen. It had been rather a surprise to see her taken down at only sixty-four years of age by disease. The best healers at St. Mungo's had not been able to stop the intractable swelling of her organs and the internal bleeding, and so Irma Black had spent two weeks in agony before dying in hospital.

The funeral ceremony had taken place in the cemetery at Godric's Hollow, where a great number of witches and wizards had been laid to rest. Bellatrix's father Cygnus, her aunt Walburga, and her uncle Alphard had all eulogised their mother. Bellatrix's grandfather Pollux had been too distraught to speak, but had been the one to magically lower Irma's black granite casket into the earth.

Once that rather macabre portion of the day was finished, everyone went back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the House of Black. The normally-quiet and elegant house had become crowded with mourners, all of whom would reunite in just a few months' time. Bellatrix would see all these people again in September, when Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy.

On the whole, Bellatrix found the conversations with distant relatives almost intolerably dull. She did manage a halfway interesting conversation with her uncle Orion about the Dark Lord's goals to purify the wizarding population of Britain. Orion's sons, Sirius and Regulus, were still students at Hogwarts, but had apparently been granted leave just before final exams to attend their grandmother's funeral.

Sirius would be beginning his third year in the autumn. Bellatrix had not seen the boy in some time, and she did not realise he'd been sorted into Gryffindor. She saw that plainly now, for he had deliberately worn his maroon and gold Hogwarts tie beneath his robes. Bellatrix stared at the boy across the drawing room, noticing the way he has his arms folded over his chest with a petulant scowl on his face. Her uncle followed Bellatrix's gaze, and Orion's cheeks reddened as he cleared his throat and said delicately,

"Sirius… is not like the rest of the family, I'm afraid. He does not support the value of blood purity. I do not approve of his school friends, but, of course there is nothing I can do to control him when he's at Hogwarts."

Bellatrix decided at once that she did not like Sirius Black, not one bit, and that he may well turn out to be as big a traitor to her family as Andromeda had been. But she curled her lips up just a tiny bit and patted Orion's shoulder reassuringly.

"I'm sure he'll come around, Uncle."

"I hope you're right, dear," Orion said solemnly. Suddenly Bellatrix yanked her arm from her uncle's shoulder, for her Dark Mark had begun to sear and burn. She looked around to the others present whom she knew also bore the Dark Mark. Her father was speaking with his sister and gave no outward appearance of pain. Rodolphus stood drinking a glass of wine, talking quietly and calmly with Narcissa and Lucius. No one else in the room seemed to have been summoned.

Bellatrix took a shaking breath and gave a nervous, apologetic smile to Orion. "Excuse me, Uncle," she said, and she crossed the room briskly to Rodolphus, Narcissa, and Lucius. They paused their conversation when Bellatrix strode up, and Bellatrix quickly yanked up the sleeve of her mourning gown. The other three stared at her vibrant black Mark in surprise, and Bellatrix hissed,

"Nobody else?"

Rodolphus shook his head, and Narcissa flicked her eyes around the room. "Go," she told Bellatrix. "Don't keep him waiting."

"We'll explain your absence if need be," Rodolphus said reassuringly, and Bellatrix nodded. She walked from the drawing room, keeping her steps as slow and calm as she could to avoid creating some sort of mass confusion. She descended the stairs to the basement and stood in the kitchen. She shut her eyes, breathing in the magic of the Dark Mark, knowing that Voldemort's summons would take her directly to him. She turned hard to her right and Disapparated from the kitchen with a crack.

When the uncomfortable pinching and whooshing stopped, Bellatrix found herself standing in the middle of a mossy pine forest. She looked around, feeling chilled in the gentle mist that fell onto the soggy earth. Scotland. She knew that forests like this one existed in the Highlands near Hogwarts. Bellatrix heard a twig snap behind her, and she whirled around with her wand extended.

Lord Voldemort glided over the forest floor toward her, using his bare hand to lower her wand. Bellatrix's breath shook at the sight of him; she hadn't seen in person since she'd helped him train the others in working with giants a month earlier.

"My Lord," she acknowledged, bowing her head reverently. His dark hair was slick against his head, wet from the mist. Somehow he looked more supernatural now than usual, and Bellatrix just stared.

"I apologise for pulling you away from a family event," Voldemort told her. He seemed to consider a thought, and then he said, "My condolences, by the way."

"Thank you," she whispered, but she gave a knowing little smile. The great Lord Voldemort did not care one lick about the death of Irma Black, nor did he particularly care that the woman's family had been gathered for her funeral. Bellatrix knew that he didn't care. That was just who he was - her fearsome, beautiful master.

She did wonder why it was that he'd summoned her here, to these misty woods, by herself, but she did not ask. It was not her place to ask. He seemed to sense her confusion, and he said sharply,

"Follow me."

Bellatrix struggled to keep up with him as he ascended a shallow hill, for the ground was riddled with large stones and moss-covered twigs. The skirts of Bellatrix's black velvet mourning gown were wet and heavy, and she panted a little as they ascended the hill. Finally she could see a flattening, a clearing, and there stood a sturdy-looking stone cottage. It was cleaner and less worn than Bellatrix might have expected a house here to be, but that all made sense when the Dark Lord turned to her at the top of the hill.

"I recently constructed this cottage as an emergency hiding spot. It is Unplottable, and its existence is known only to you and me." He took a step toward the stone building, and Bellatrix followed him, eyeing the cottage in wonder.

He had built this? The amount of magic required to do such a thing, to make a sturdy stone house from scratch, to make it Unplottable… Bellatrix was once again breathless as she pondered his power. The door was a rich red, made of heavy wood with a shining brass handle. The windows were clear panes of straight, modern glass, and Bellatrix could see that there were lace curtains on the inside. She stared in through the window. Voldemort's voice cut through the chilly air as he commanded,

"Go inside."

Bellatrix met his eyes for a moment, but she obeyed him at once. She pushed the door open and stepped inside to find a small but suitably-outfitted space. To the left was a parlour and a little dining-room. To the right was a kitchen and a door that was propped open enough for Bella to tell it was a lavatory. There were narrow stairs that led to a lofted space, in which Bellatrix could see a bed and a wardrobe.

"There is non-perishable food here," Voldemort explained as he shut the door. "There are medical supplies and a store of potions. There is clothing for you up in the wardrobe. There are… I have clothing there, as well."

Bellatrix felt her brows furrow as she looked around the cottage. She was profoundly confused. Why, she wondered, had the Dark Lord built an emergency shelter just for her?

"It isn't just for you," Voldemort snapped, and Bellatrix whirled round as he realised he had seen her thoughts. Well, of course he had; he was the most powerful Legilimens to ever live. He shifted on his feet and said sternly,

"I can say with confidence that, while I much that prefer my ranks continue to swell, any individual soldier of mine is entirely expendable. I can not say that of you, Bella. Last week, you used the Floo Network to flee a duel at an Auror's house when others came and you were overwhelmed. You dashed into the fireplace, and you went to Castle Lestrange. Then what happened?"

Bellatrix's voice shook a bit as she admitted, "Leonidas Farrow snatched my robes and followed me. I had to execute him the moment we arrived at the Castle."

"But even if he hadn't followed you, the location of Castle Lestrange is very well known to the Ministry of Magic and to Dumbledore's followers," Voldemort said. He stepped closer to her and said once more, his voice low and seething, "You were overwhelmed and had to flee a battle. What if that happens again? What if fifty of them follow you?"

"Then, My Lord, I would fight my very hardest for you," Bellatrix assured him. "Even unto the death."

"But, Bella," Voldemort said, dragging his spindly fingers over her jaw and making her shiver, "I just told you. You are not expendable. You are not… replaceable. You are not permitted to become a casualty of this war. Do you understand me?"

She nodded. So this was where she was to come if she was ever cornered. He needed her alive. Bellatrix shut her eyes as that thought washed over her like water in the desert. He needed her.

"I have considered… other methods… of ensuring that you are not taken down by some stray Killing Curse," Voldemort said lightly, striding into the parlour, "but I have determined that, for now, the best option was to create this as an emergency shelter. If you need to Apparate here, you simply envision it in your mind and you think the words Capella Cottage. Now I want you to sit down, because this next bit will be rather difficult."

Bellatrix felt a twist of confused dread in her stomach, but she sank into one of the brown leather wingback chairs in the parlour. Voldemort flicked his wand at the fireplace, murmuring a quietIncendio. The fireplace lit up at once with dancing golden flames, which were a welcome comfort for Bellatrix given how she'd climbed up here through the cold mist.

Then Voldemort turned Bellatrix and asked, "Are you familiar with the Fidelius Charm?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open and she nodded. The Fidelius Charm was an ancient, deep form of magic that made locked away the location of a specific place within a designated Secret-Keeper. The location could not be taken from the Secret-Keeper by force; it had to be given willingly. Suddenly Bellatrix understood. This was not just an emergency shelter for her; he would come here if he needed sanctuary, too. And even if Bellatrix was tortured, she would be unable to tell her captors where Voldemort was hiding. He knew that she would take a year of constant Cruciatus torture without giving him up, but he needed to be certain. So he was entrusting her with his very being. Bellatrix's breath shook, and her hands nervously held the arms of the chair as he raised his wand and said,

"Let us begin, then."

* * *

"Claude locus… Claude locus Capella Cottage… Claude locus… Custos Mysteria Bellatrix… Claude locus… Claude locus Capella Cottage… Custos Mysteria Bellatrix…"

The words flowed from Voldemort's lips easily, the ancient spells knitting themselves into Bellatrix's soul with every incantation. Voldemort gave no indication of how tired he was feeling now, ten minutes into the repetition of the words that comprised the Fidelius Charm. He rarely performed magic this powerful, and the only times he could recall feeling so drained from spell-casting were when he had created his Horcruxes. This was nearly as exhausting as that.

Bellatrix was trembling where she sat, her head slumped against the wing of the chair and her eyes closed. What fatigue Voldemort felt in casting the spell, she felt ten times over in receiving it. He stared at her curls, her pale skin, still wet from the mist, and he knew he'd chosen the right vessel for his secret. His wand hand began to tremble a little as he repeated,

"Claude locus Capella Cottage… Custos Mysteria Bellatrix… Custos Mysteria Bellatrix… Claude locus Capella Cottage… Claude locus in custos mysteria, Bellatrix."

He could feel a little pinch in his chest, and he sensed that the Fidelius Charm had entirely taken hold. Lowering his wand, he tucked it away and pulled out the little phial of Invigoration Draught that he'd put in his robes earlier. He ignored the way his tired fingers shook as he pulled the stopper from the bottle with a little pop. He drank half the bottle himself and swallowed the sickly sweet liquid. Then he moved to the chair where Bellatrix had been lulled to sleep by the force of the Fidelius Charm.

Voldemort considered, for a brief moment, simply letting her rest. It would be the most prudent thing to do, probably, given the power of the spells he'd just inflicted on her. His eyes drew up and down her form, noticing that she seemed to have lost weight in the past two months. Her black velvet gown, one he'd seen her wear before, did not cling as tightly to her as usual. It had been stress, probably, and she'd been so busy fighting for him that she had probably skipped a great many meals.

He'd not touched her body since the miscarriage. A part of him had been afraid to do so - afraid of the alien thoughts and feelings he'd experienced in the wake of it all, and afraid that it might happen again. The war had raged, and they'd been busy. Their paths had crossed; their presence had been mutual but very rarely exclusive. So now he just watched her breathe slowly and he took a long moment to actually look at her.

Her dark brows were furrowed in consternation, even in sleep. Her full lips were parted just a little bit, and Voldemort felt an aching in his chest when he remembered the feel of those lips crushed beneath his. It had been so long now since they'd kissed like that, since he'd pawed at her and put bruises on her as he claimed her body.

His eyes flicked down to the Invigoration Draught in his hand, and he decided she could rest later.

He carefully turned her face and poured the potion over her lips, and he waited. The Invigoration Draught was really taking hold of him now; the physical fatigue had given way to a buzzing sort of energy that was growing inside of him. Rather impulsively, he Vanished the empty potion bottle and scooped Bellatrix up from the chair. She mewled quietly, just entering consciousness as Voldemort cradled her and quickly made his way to the narrow staircase. His feet pattered up the stairs, and Bellatrix's eyes fluttered a bit. He put her down on the double bed, the one he'd built with his own powerful magic, and he moved quickly and efficiently to disrobe himself. He tossed his outer robe aside, glancing out the little window he'd put in the loft to the empty glen below as he unbuttoned his tunic. That and his trousers and underwear were thrown into a haphazard pile on the pine floor, and Voldemort turned, utterly nude, back to the bed.

She was awake now - still drowsy, but fully awake. She pulled herself up slowly to sit, and her cheeks went pink as she murmured,

"My Lord… I beg you… be rough with me as you once were."

Voldemort shuddered and went quite hard at those words, and he nodded. He knelt on the bed beside Bellatrix and put his hands to the collar of her black gown. Her wide, dark eyes searched his for half-second, and then she yelped, for he tore as hard as he could at the fabric of her dress. It gave way and he tore harder, using his hands instead of magic to undress her forcefully. The buttons that ran down the front of the gown gave way, and Voldemort yanked the gown up and over Bellatrix's head. She wriggled to help him shuck it, and it joined the pile of his clothes on the ground. He unhooked her bra from the back and literally tore her knickers from her, causing her to cry out a bit in pain.

When she was bared to him at last, he seized one of her small, round breasts in his hand and squeezed so hard that her face contorted.

"Too much?" he asked in a taunting little murmur, but she bravely shook her head no. Voldemort was so energised by the Invigoration Draught, and so aroused, that he did not suppose he would be able to stop himself now, anyway. It was good, then, probably, that she was so willing. He kept squeezing and scratching at her breasts with his left hand whilst his right gathered her dark curls in a fist and wrenched. Bellatrix squealed as her head was forced backward, her face turned to the ceiling. Now her pretty neck was exposed to him, and Voldemort latched on like a vampire.

He licked and suckled and bit, groaning against her skin as he thought about all the marks that would be left there. She was moaning desperately, and her fingers dug into the white quilt on the bed. Voldemort's cock demanded attention in a way it had never done before, and he pulled his face away from Bellatrix's neck and hissed,

"Lie on your back. Now." She scurried to obey him, and he added, "Put a few pillows under your head."

He'd had rather a mad idea, but he knew she would go along with anything he suggested… or commanded. He watched as Bellatrix lay at an angle, her neck and breasts already showing the first signs of angry welts and her eyes round as saucers. He stared at her lips for a moment, shuddering at the thought of what she was about to do to him, and what he was about to do to her. He seized her right wrist and squeezed until he knew it hurt, and he planted it above Bellatrix's hand. Then he took her left wrist and turned it over, dragging his lips over her dormant Dark Mark. She moaned loudly at that, staring at her own wrist and looking tormented by it all. Voldemort put her left wrist atop her right and snatched his wand.

"Incarcerous."

Immediately, thin cords were Conjured from the air and bound themselves around Bellatrix's wrists. She seemed to like the feeling of being tied up by him, and she pulsed with want as her breath hitched. Voldemort thrust her legs apart and twisted two fingers into her, then a third as she arched her back. His thumb toyed with her nub, and he leaned down and smashed his mouth against hers in a kiss that would leave her lips bloody and sore. He bit and suckled there even more harshly than he'd done to her neck, and all the while his fingers pumped and turned and his thumb drew circles of pressure. She climaxed intensely within a few moments, crying desperately against his mouth. His cock twitched at the feel of her clamping around his fingers. It was so much. Too much. He wrenched his fingers out of her and ripped his mouth off hers, and he shuffled up quickly so that he was kneeling above her, straddling her chest.

Without warning, he guided the tip of his cock between her lips and grabbed hold of the headboard to steady himself. He didn't give her a chance to start pleasuring him herself; he bucked his hips roughly forward as though her mouth were the same as what lay between her legs. He began thrusting, ignoring the way she gagged and yelped. It felt good, so very good, and he spent a few moments fucking her like that. In truth, that's what was happening. She had no control over her hands, and he was pistoning himself roughly into her throat without giving her any leverage. Finally he looked down and saw the way tears were streaming from her eyes, heard the way she was choking and gasping, and he pulled out of her mouth. He slid his knees backward a few inches and grabbed his wand again.

"Emancipare," he muttered, and the binds around Bellatrix's wrists gave way. He gave her a very meaningful glare and demanded, "Have you been very diligent with your contraceptive potion?"

She nodded frantically, still catching her breath and wiping saliva from her swollen lips. He could tell she was being honest; he would have known at once if she'd been lying.

"Good," he muttered, and he moved further down her body. He slid into her, and he barely had any time at all to pump his hips before it was all over. He was seeing spots, his ears were ringing, and he could feel the pulse of his release filling her. He burrowed his face against her breasts, kissing the places he'd bruised with his fingers and whispering in a shaking voice, "Bella… Bella…"

He did not care, suddenly, if he sounded to her adoring ears as though he enjoyed this too much. He did enjoy this, and every other time with her. He did enjoy her, every bit of her. He enjoyed her pretty face, her pleasurable and willing body. He enjoyed her skill with torture and killing, the way she was so fearless in battle and unafraid of her own fate. He enjoyed the way she looked at him like no one else ever had or would. He enjoyed putting bruises on her and then healing them away. That was a sort of power he exerted over no one else, and he enjoyed it. More than anything else, he enjoyed saying her name in times like this - just after finishing inside of her, whilst her fingernails massaged his scalp.

"Bella…"

He pulled out of her and lay on his back beside her, regaining his breath as he closed his eyes. He felt her move a bit beside him. When she spoke, her voice was dry and hoarse from the way he'd pounded her throat.

"Shall I dress and leave, My Lord?"

"No," he said simply. He could not stand the thought, for some reason, of her going back to London or to Castle Lestrange just now. He swallowed heavily, unwilling to accept the creeping fear in his mind that he enjoyed Bellatrix just a bit too much. He kept his voice stern as he said, "Lie down beside me."

The Invigoration Draught was useless now; both of their climaxes had more than overwhelmed the potion's energising powers. And so once Bellatrix curled up against his nude body, it took a measurable amount of effort for Voldemort to aim his wand before them and murmur,

"Lodicula texo."

A warm woolen blanket was Conjured in the air, weaving itself quickly and settling over the both of them. For a long while, Voldemort lay in silence, listening to Bellatrix's breathing beside him.

"The Fidelius Charm only prevents someone from taking the location of this cottage from you by force. You could still give it away of your own volition," he murmured finally, and her fingers twitched on his chest.

"I never would, My Lord," she promised. He nodded.

"Good girl. Because you know what would happen to you if you did."

It was a death threat, an actual death threat, and she knew it. Her fingers brushed around his sternum, and she said quite confidently,

"I never would betray you, My Lord. Not ever."

"I know." He kissed her forehead, feeling the fatigue from the casting of the Fidelius combine with the exertion of what he and Bellatrix had done. It was the middle of the afternoon, but Voldemort paid no heed to the hour as he let himself relax, his body entangled with Bellatrix's.

Let them all wonder where she'd gone, why they hadn't been summoned. Let Rodolphus wonder when she would be home and what she was doing with the Dark Lord. Let them all wonder,Voldemort thought as his mind drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**14 September 1973**

**Malfoy Manor**

"The bride and groom will now share their first dance," announced Abraxas Malfoy, gesturing proudly to the dance floor in Malfoy Manor's ballroom. Bellatrix watched as Lucius, in his elaborate formal robes, led Narcissa out onto the floor. The strings began to play an elegant waltz, and Narcissa stared up at Lucius as though he had just saved her from drowning. Bellatrix knew that look. It was the way she looked at the Dark Lord. It was the look of real, visceral love.

Narcissa was positively resplendent in her airy white gown, with its full lacy skirts that moved like water around her. Her icy blonde hair was pulled back into a braided bun, from which fell a beautiful, lightweight veil. Narcissa and Lucius smiled blissfully at one another as they danced, and from beside Bellatrix, Rodolphus said softly,

"They will be very happy together, I think."

"There was never anyone else she could have married," Bellatrix murmured back. She watched her sister smile, watched Lucius smile back down at her, and her stomach twisted a bit. On her own wedding day, she had danced with Rodolphus and had felt nothing. She had danced with the Dark Lord and had felt herself come alive. But her husband was Rodolphus, not Lord Voldemort. Narcissa had the privilege of sharing her bed each night with a man who loved her fiercely, a man to whom she had given her entire heart.

Bellatrix drank very deeply from her glass of elf-made wine - her second since the ceremony had ended - and passed the empty glass to Rodolphus. She gave him an innocent little smile and said,

"Would you mind fetching me another?"

He stared at the empty glass for a moment and gave her a suspicious look, but he nodded and walked off to the beverage table. Bellatrix watched him go, and then she spotted Lord Voldemort, standing back a bit from the crowd that had encircled the dance floor. He wore a full white-tie tuxedo ensemble tonight, with a neatly tailored black robe. Bellatrix felt a bit dizzy at the sight of him. After a half second of her staring, he seemed to sense her gaze, and his dark eyes flicked over to her. He did not smile; he just stared back, his arms folded over his chest. She felt a buzz in her head and knew he'd pushed his way in. Bellatrix frowned, wondering what he wanted to see.

He scanned through her memories of the last few months, the little skirmishes with Aurors, her work utilising giants to terrorise Mudbloods by demolishing their homes. He paused for a moment to watch her recollection of the night in August when she'd spent seven hours torturing a Ministry official until the witch could no longer speak or walk. That witch was now in residence at St. Mungo's. Then the Dark Lord pulled out Bellatrix's very recent thoughts, the way she'd been jealous at the sight of Narcissa marrying the man she loved. Voldemort pulled himself out of Bellatrix's mind at the sound of the crowd applauding, and he turned his eyes back to Abraxas Malfoy, who insisted to his guests that they eat and drink their fill and make merry dancing.

Rodolphus stepped back up to Bellatrix then, holding a tumbler of firewhisky. She frowned; she'd asked him for more wine. But he gave her a meaningful, knowing look, and he said,

"You seemed as though perhaps you wanted something stronger."

"Thank you." Bellatrix took the tumbler and swigged from it, twisting her face at the awful burn as the whisky went down her throat and into her chest. She embraced the searing pain and drank again and again until the tumbler was empty and she thought she might be sick.

"Hold off for a while, then, will you?" Rodolphus took the empty tumbler and walked off again, leaving Bellatrix sniffing away the burn of the firewhisky where she stood.

"You look beautiful, darling," said her mother's voice from behind her, and Bellatrix turned to face Druella Black. Bellatrix scowled down at the bridesmaid gown she'd been forced to wear by Narcissa, who had chosen her friend Sabine Yaxley as the other bridesmaid. It wasn't as though Andromeda had been available.

"I look like mustard," Bellatrix countered. She was being petulant, she knew, and she was probably exaggerating. The gowns Narcissa had selected were a dark gold raw silk, cut in a Polonaise style that hearkened to more dignified times. Bellatrix's dark curls had been tamed into a chignon atop her head, in which a few real white roses had been pinned. She frowned up at her mother and said more firmly, "I look ridiculous. This entire madness surrounding weddings is ridiculous, given that there's war on."

"My dear." Druella touched Bellatrix's face, and a look of pity crossed her face. "It is precisely during wartime that occasions such as weddings prove themselves so very necessary. Look at Cissy. Look how happy she is."

The two women turned to see that Lucius and Narcissa were still dancing, though others had joined them. Narcissa's feather-light skirts swayed about her as she smiled at her husband.

"Please, Bellatrix. Allow yourself one night where your mind is not on battle. Try to be happy, just for once."

Bellatrix did not tell her mother that she had been happy, a great many times in the last few years. Druella would probably not be elated to hear that it was torture, murder, and a sexual affair with the Dark Lord that brought Bellatrix happiness. So Bellatrix just nodded, and Druella said,

"I'm going to dance with your father. Enjoy the celebration, darling."

Bellatrix watched her mother leave, and she frowned. The whisky and the wine started to hit her, and she swayed a little where she stood. She turned her eyes toward the food, thinking it might help to get a bit of bread in her stomach. As she walked to the food, she passed Rodolphus, who leaned against the wall and was talking with Sabine Yaxley.

Sabine had spoken to Bellatrix years earlier about her jealousy that she was not yet getting married. They would both be turning twenty-two soon enough, and Sabine was still unwed. Bellatrix knew exactly why. She'd come home to Castle Lestrange more than once to find Sabine there. Bellatrix was well aware that Rodolphus bore her great admiration, or perhaps something stronger, and that he had regular relations with her. It was of no consequence to Bellatrix; she and Rodolphus slept separately and enjoyed a stable but sexless union.

But as she took a dinner roll from the silver bowl on the food table, she watched Rodolphus lead Sabine out to the dance floor. Bellatrix froze with a bite of bread in her mouth. That was too much, she thought suddenly. She watched Rodolphus put his hands on Sabine and sweep her into smooth, close movements. She didn't mind what they did alone together, but for Rodolphus to embarrass Bellatrix by publicly dancing with Sabine Yaxley was a step too far. Bellatrix set the dinner roll down on the table and walked to the beverage table, snatching a glass of too-sweet elderflower wine. She drank the whole glass in three swigs, knowing she was becoming properly drunk and finding herself utterly unable to care. She wrenched her eyes shut and forced the last gulp down, and then she heard a smooth voice beside her say,

"I will discuss the matter with him tomorrow."

Bellatrix opened her eyes to see the Dark Lord looming over her. She was surprised at the anger she saw in his eyes. She knew he was speaking about Rodolphus, about her husband's bravado in taking another woman onto the dance floor. Bellatrix's eyes stung then, as Lord Voldemort bowed his head and extended his hand to her,

"Madam Lestrange, would you grant me the honour of a dance?" he asked, loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear. Bellatrix took his hand and nodded firmly.

"Of course, My Lord."

When he walked by revelers, they moved aside and bowed reverently. It was as though he was a king or a god among them, and Bellatrix walked a half step behind him. She felt him squeeze her hand a bit as they entered the dance floor. A new waltz was starting up, and still Rodolphus danced with Sabine Yaxley. The auburn-haired young woman was talking enthusiastically with him about something or other.

"He looks happy," Bellatrix murmured, as Lord Voldemort put his hand to her back and laced his fingers through hers. They began to move, and she stared up at him as he said firmly,

"I do not care if he is happy. It is unacceptable for him to publicly dance with a woman who is not his wife."

Bellatrix could not help but grin crookedly at that, and she tipped her head and dared to ask, "Is it unacceptable, My Lord, for me to publicly dance with a man who is not my husband?"

"I am the master of everyone in this room," he replied in a slick, low voice, and Bellatrix's head spun. He moved his hand up her back a bit and pulled her closer, leaning down to whisper into her ear, "You do not belong to him; you belong to me. You make a false comparison and you insult me by comparing me to Sabine Yaxley."

"My Lord, I did not intend to -"

"I know. You're drunk. You would never speak so impudently otherwise," he said, readjusting their dancing stance to appear more formal. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm with shame, knowing he'd seen the jealousy in her mind that she bore for Narcissa. Now she was jealous of Sabine Yaxley. At least, she thought distantly, Sabine was dancing with Rodolphus and not the Dark Lord.

He scoffed suddenly, startling her, and he asked with a smirk, "Do you honestly think I would dance in public with that empty-headed girl?"

Bellatrix was so tipsy now that her words flowed unfiltered from her lips. "To be honest, My Lord, I never know exactly what you would do, or what you are going to do. You are unpredictable, which is probably for the best given that we are -"

He silenced her then by taking his hand from hers and cupping her jaw. Suddenly he was kissing her, in such a sweet and affectionate way that Bellatrix nearly fainted. She felt him gently press his tongue between her lips, felt him pull her closer and caress her the raw silk of her gown as his hand tightened on her back. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it was deep and it was meaningful, and then he pulled away and immediately resumed their waltz.

Bellatrix stumbled for a moment before regaining her steps, and she panicked for a moment as she glanced around the ballroom. Rodolphus had pulled away from Sabine Yaxley and was staring at Bellatrix. His face seemed, if anything, guilt-stricken and humiliated. There was no trace of anger on his features. He knew that the Dark Lord had just punished him in front of the entire party of guests, and he politely excused himself from the dance floor, leaving Sabine Yaxley looking bewildered and red-faced.

Bellatrix's parents were dancing with one another, as were the elder Malfoys, and though both couples continued waltzing, all their eyes were locked on Bellatrix and the Dark Lord. For his part, Lord Voldemort stayed perfectly calm, his dancing steps expertly smooth. He kept Bellatrix upright and moving despite her swimming head, and he asked quietly,

"Is that what you meant by 'unpredictable'?"

Bellatrix said nothing. She had nothing to say. She just finished the dance with him, and when it was over, she dipped into a curtsy. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, boring his eyes into hers with a face devoid of emotion. He did not release her hand for a solid ten seconds after the song ended. He wanted everyone to watch, for everyone to see that she was his. It didn't matter that her husband openly cavorted with another pretty young woman. Who cared about Rodolphus Lestrange in the life of Bellatrix when she so clearly belonged to their lord and master?

"You look very pretty tonight, Bella," he murmured, and then he let her hand drop and he walked away.

Bellatrix should have felt ashamed, standing there alone on the dance floor when her husband had swept another woman into his arms. But instead she puffed up her chest a bit and smiled. Let them all know where her loyalties resided, more sincerely than any of theirs could dream of doing. Let them see that Lord Voldemort enjoyed her, that he protected her honour. Bellatrix strode with confidence from the dance floor, wordlessly passing the still pink-cheeked Sabine Yaxley as she did.

* * *

21 September 1973

"How do you like it, Madam Lestrange?"

Hardy Braddock, the expert magical tailor and owner of Braddock Couture, emerged from the back of his Diagon Alley shop and held up an elegant silk and crepe gown. It was mostly black, with little velvet embellishments in the darkest green. The sleeves billowed until halfway down the forearm, where they became tight-fitting gauntlets of richly embroidered silk. Bellatrix smirked and nodded.

"It's perfect, Mr Braddock. Thank you." She had placed the order weeks earlier, and she drifted her fingers over the material as she contemplated the way the last week had gone.

She had finally found Fabian Prewett in Wales and had managed to Stupefy him and bring him to the Dark Lord. Using a combination of Legilimency and the Cruciatus Curse, Fabian's mind had yielded a good deal of information about how ferociously Albus Dumbledore was working to organise a resistance to Voldemort's ascent. That had been a positive experience in the wake of Narcissa's wedding. And just this morning, Rodolphus had kissed Bellatrix gently and had put a delicate chain of gold around her neck, from which an amethyst crystal pendant hung.

Of course, he'd have been terribly remiss not to do something to acknowledge her twenty-second birthday.

"Would you like to try it on again, Madam Lestrange?" asked Hardy Braddock, snapping Bellatrix back to the present. She opened her mouth to say yes, prepared to go back into his customer dressing room. But then, all of a sudden, her left forearm burned and seared. She tried to keep her face steady, to ignore her master's call, and she pulled a handful of coins from the drawstring purse at her side. She began counting out gold Galleons onto the counter and said as calmly as she could,

"I'm afraid I'm in quite an unusual hurry today, Mr Braddock. I shall take it with me, and I do promise to bring it back if something fits improperly."

Braddock, who had been making Bellatrix's luxury clothing since her privileged youth, smiled knowingly at her. He took the coins from the counter and said in a sly tone, "No hemming it yourself, eh?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and forced a smile, recalling the time when she had been seven years old and overconfident in her ability to mend a set of very expensive dress robes. After receiving a stern warning from the Ministry about her daughter's underage use of magic, Druella Black had dragged Bellatrix back to Braddock Couture and forced her to apologise for demolishing his careful, expert work.

"I promise, Mr Braddock, that I shall bring the dress back if any alterations at all are needed. Unfortunately, I must go at once." Bellatrix drummed her fingers anxiously on the wooden counter as Braddock encased the dress in a silk garment bag enchanted to keep his work safe. He handed it over to Bellatrix, and she mumbled her thanks as she draped the dress over her arm and walked quickly out of the shop.

It took everything she had not to run outside, for her arm was seriously painful now. She finally managed to find a very narrow alleyway between two shops and wedged her way into the shadows. She shut her eyes, calling forth the magic of the Dark Mark, and she Disapparated.

* * *

Voldemort paced in the parlour of Capella Cottage, willing Bellatrix to arrive more quickly. He'd summoned her for what he knew had to be a very brief encounter. He needed to meet this afternoon with Abraxas Malfoy and a few others about Dumbledore's allies within the Ministry of Magic. The interrogation of Fabian Prewett had revealed that Dumbledore's efforts were far more organised than Voldemort had previously thought. He needed his Death Eaters at the Ministry to be apprised of any relevant information, and he wanted to do it himself. So he would have very little time to give Bellatrix the item he held in his left hand.

It was cold and metallic as he anxiously turned it around in his fingers, and Voldemort felt his heart go a bit faster than he was used to it doing. Why was he nervous about this? She was obsessed with him. She was his soldier, his slave. So why, he wondered with a twinge of self-disgust, was he nervous about giving her a silly little ring?

Crack!

He glanced out the window to see that Bellatrix had apparated onto the mossy clearing outside. She looked around, realised where she was, and headed for the doorway of the cottage. When she shut the door behind her, Voldemort noticed she had a garment bag draped over her arm. He cocked up an eyebrow and asked sardonically,

"Did I interrupt your shopping?"

She looked down to the garment bag and said simply, "It is a new dress from Braddock. I had a similar one, but it was destroyed beyond repair at the -"

"The incident with the giant and Mudblood's house in Yorkshire." Voldemort nodded and smiled a bit, remembering the way the overexcited giant had torn the house apart. A stray piece of wooden shrapnel had flown toward Bellatrix. Voldemort had slowed it with a flick of his wand, seeing out of the corner of his eye that she was about to be hit. She was too busy lighting the remnants of the house on fire to notice the wooden board headed straight for her. Even decelerated, the splintered wood had shredded her expensive clothing.

He watched now as Bellatrix hung the dress up on the coat hook by the door and stepped into the parlour. Her face was docile as she asked,

"Is there something specific you needed, My Lord?"

"Today is your birthday," he said matter-of-factly, as though she didn't already know. A small smile crossed her face then, and she nodded.

"It is."

Voldemort stepped toward her and picked up her left hand. He examined the two rings she wore on her fourth finger. One was a white gold band with a small, simple round diamond. The other was an unadorned white gold band. They were the rings that signaled her marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange. She'd worn them for years now. Voldemort felt his mouth twitch as he remembered the week earlier, the way Rodolphus had dared take another woman out onto the dance floor. For some reason, that had made Voldemort feel angry and possessive. He shouldn't have cared about it at all. But he made a public statement to Rodolphus that very night by kissing Bellatrix in front of everyone, and he'd seriously considered a more severe, private punishment for Rodolphus.

"He serves me loyally," Voldemort mused aloud, more to himself than Bellatrix. She sighed and said quietly,

"Of course he does, My Lord. He is ferociously loyal to you. My marriage to him was arranged; it was -"

"It was intended to produce more pureblood children," Voldemort noted, a bit of bite in his tone. He pursed his lips and raised his eyes to Bellatrix's. "When the war is over, you will need to give him a child. A pureblood child. That is why you are his wife. That is the only reason you are his wife."

She nodded her understanding, but her wide eyes were sad as she whispered, "For now, though, My Lord… I must fight, mustn't I?"

"Yes." He stared at her for a half second too long, and then he lowered her left hand and reached instead for her right one. Her thin fingers on this hand were completely bare, and Voldemort dragged his fingernails carefully around the skin of her hand until she shivered. Then, without saying anything, he pushed the ring he'd had made for her onto the fourth finger of her right hand.

She marveled at it, at the exquisite gold band that was coated in tiny diamonds. An oval emerald sat atop a cage of woven gold, surrounded by ever more diamonds.

Andor Szmuk, the best magical jeweler in all of Europe, had made the ring in Romania on a special rush order from Voldemort. It had turned out better than Voldemort could have hoped for, and he'd paid Szmuk extra as a show of approval.

"My Lord…" Bellatrix breathed, turning her hand and watching the ring glisten in the natural light from the window. Voldemort flicked his eyes back at forth between Bellatrix's left and right hands. Her marriage was meaningless; now the rings that symbolised it were meaningless, too.

"I want for you to wear it at all times. Many bear the Dark Mark as a visible symbol of their loyalty to me. You wear this ring as a signal to all that you have been permanently claimed by Lord Voldemort."

Bellatrix's eyes began to silently shed tears then as she nodded, still looking at the ring. She finally raised her wide, dark eyes and whispered fervently,

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Happy birthday," he said crisply. She nodded, making no effort to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. He didn't even have to actively enter her mind to know that she was desperate for him to kiss her. So he did.

He pushed her shoulders backward, halfway between gentle and insistent, until her back hit the plaster wall. He tipped her chin up and kissed her deeply, more deeply than he remembered doing in a good long while. He'd felt a rush of pleasure when he'd kissed her at her sister's wedding, when he'd demonstrated to everyone present that even a married woman could be his and his alone. He remembered the look on Bellatrix's face when she'd seen Rodolphus dancing with Sabine Yaxley. She had looked… betrayed. And that had made Voldemort angry and possessive.

He'd claimed her for the very first time in Grey's Inn, that day he had Transfigured his features and taken her up to the little room and taken her virginity. He had claimed her on her wedding night, when her husband had been too drunk to take her for himself. He had claimed her on his last birthday, and had put a child into her in the process. He had claimed her when he had built this cottage and commanded her to keep it a secret, using powerful magic to implant the secure knowledge into her soul.

Now he claimed her with a deep kiss, with his fingers snarled in her hair, and with the ring on her right hand that was among the most beautiful ever made. She put her hands to his cheeks as he kissed her, and he felt the metallic touch of the rings on both her hands - the useless wedding rings on her left hand, and the powerful symbol on her right hand.

He felt far too much for her then, and he pulled away from the kiss, leaving her breathless against the wall. He sniffed a little and straightened his robes as he said in a sterile tone, "I've a meeting at Malfoy Manor, and I must leave at once. Enjoy the rest of your birthday, Bella."

He walked away, flinging the cottage door open. As he pulled it shut, he heard her say from behind him, her voice tremulous and weak with awe,

"Thank you, My Lord."

* * *

**December 1973**

**No 12 Grimmauld Place, London**

Once again, members of the House of Black and their extended families had gathered at Grimmauld Place, this time for a family Christmas celebration. This year, it felt as though there was a good deal to celebrate, even with the passing of Irma in the summer. After all, Narcissa and Lucius had been married, Bellatrix and Rodolphus had continued to help the Dark Lord dismantle the authority of the Ministry, and Cygnus Black III had recently been granted the position of Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. At the moment, it felt very much as though the House of Black were riding atop a great tidal wave, driven to shore in large part because of their existence.

A hired trio of musicians in the corner played Christmas tunes quietly enough not to overwhelm the conversation in the drawing room. The violin and flute mingled with the troubadour's wistful singing as Bellatrix popped a small peppermint taffy into her mouth. She stood against the wall, watching Rodolphus talk at length with Lucius Malfoy. Business, probably.

"Bella," she heard Narcissa say from beside her, and Bellatrix turned to see a look of concern on her sister's face. She stood up straighter and tried to chew the taffy enough to speak. Before she could, an awful look crossed Narcissa's face, and she said, "I need you to come talk with me. Privately."

Bellatrix scowled, now quite concerned, but she let Narcissa lead her up the staircase, away from the party and into one of the guest bedrooms. Now Bellatrix's mouth was clear, and she hissed to Narcissa,

"What the devil is the matter?"

Narcissa wrung her hands before her and said in a nervous tone, "She didn't even want to tell Rodolphus. She's terrified of what the Dark Lord will do to her… what you will do to her, Bella."

"Who?" Bellatrix asked, though as her veins went cold, she suspected she knew. Narcissa hesitated, so Bellatrix nodded and said, "Sabine Yaxley. What's she done? Out with it, then."

Narcissa's breath shook, and Bellatrix suddenly wished she had the Legilimency abilities the Dark Lord did. She barked sharply at her sister again,

"Out with it, Cissy! What's she done?"

"She's pregnant!" Narcissa cried finally. She threw her hands up and plopped down to sit on the edge of the guest bed. Bellatrix gulped heavily and sighed. She thought about the way Rodolphus and Sabine had danced at Narcissa's wedding, the times she had come home to Castle Lestrange to find Sabine still there. Bellatrix had known her husband had a mistress, but to hear this… She steeled her face and tipped her chin up, and she said as bravely as she could manage,

"At least it will be a pureblood child. After all, that was the whole point of my marriage to Rodolphus, but the Dark Lord requires my service in battle just now. I do hope her pregnancy and childbirth go smoothly."

Narcissa gave Bellatrix an odd look and said with pity in her voice, "Bella, you needn't pretend that it doesn't bother you. He's your husband. She's pregnant with your husband's child. You're allowed to be upset, to be hurt, to -"

"I am not bothered in the least by this," Bellatrix insisted, crossing her arms over her chest and realising that her words were actually mostly true. Then she remembered how angry the Dark Lord had been when she hadn't told him about her own pregnancy, and she said, "I will need to tell him. He'll find it in my head either way, and I'd much rather he hear my voice tell him. I'm going to Malfoy Manor. Give Rodolphus and Sabine my congratulations, will you?"

She turned and walked briskly from the room, leaving Narcissa dumbstruck on the bed. Halfway down the staircase, she ran into her cousin Sirius, who was probably headed up to his own bedroom for something. The boy was home from Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays. Bellatrix paused, blocking the way for Sirius, and smirked.

"Well, if it isn't my little Gryffindor cousin," she said rather snidely. "How's school going, then?"

"I quite like school, Bellatrix," Sirius said, shaking his shaggy black hair from his face. "My friends - Gryffindors, the lot of them - make it fun so that I don't mind the schoolwork, you know?"

"No, I'm afraid I have no idea what it's like to be friends with Blood Traitors and Mudbloods," Bellatrix answered sharply. She narrowed her eyes and said to Sirius, "You're a disgrace to this entire family, you know."

Sirius shrugged. He glanced down toward the drawing room, where the House of Black had gathered. "I don't see how it's my problem they're all so obsessed with ancestry and blood and whatnot. Seems macabre and childish to me."

"Childish?" Bellatrix hissed, moving down a step so that she hovered directly over Sirius. She felt her face twist into an ugly grimace, and she scoffed, "The only child about here is you, Sirius. You and your traitorous little friends. Deny your family, deny your heritage. Deny the Dark Lord. See where it gets you. You'll pay a price for it all, sooner or later."

Sirius painted a look of innocent curiosity on his face, and he said, "Surely you aren't threatening me? My most beloved cousin…"

"Get out of my way," Bellatrix whispered in a deathly tone, and Sirius moved aside. He smirked as he gestured grandly down the stairs. Bellatrix pushed him against the wall as she passed. As she rounded the corner away from the stairs, she heard Sirius call sarcastically,

"Happy Christmas, Bellatrix!"

* * *

"Enter." Voldemort set aside the report he'd been reading, one from Macnair on recent conversations between Death Eaters and centaurs. He recognised Bella's knock and rose from the chair at his desk, taking a few steps toward the door as she opened it and walked inside. She looked solemn but calm, and he cocked up an eyebrow.

"Were you so bored by your family's Christmas party that you felt the need to come pester me?" he asked, a little hint of play in his tone. The House of Black was important enough that he knew of their holiday gathering. Bellatrix shook her head seriously and immediately cut to the meat of why she'd come.

"My Lord, Sabine Yaxley is pregnant. Rodolphus is the father."

Voldemort sucked on his bottom lip for a moment as he studied Bellatrix's face. She did not seem overwhelmed or sad about the situation, which was odd. He pressed into her mind with Legilimency, and the first thought he encountered was her wishing she had the same mental skills he did. Voldemort searched through her memories, found the very recent one where Narcissa had informed her of Sabine's pregnancy, and he felt the way that Bellatrix genuinely had not been bothered. She felt no real emotion about it - no joy, no sorrow, no relief, no jealousy. The situation simply was.

"It is as you told your sister," Voldemort said, pulling himself out of her mind. "Even if they are not married, the child will be pureblood. It is good and right that your priority be on that and not on personal insult."

"There is no insult, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted. He stepped closer to her and tipped her chin up, kissing her carefully, deepening the kiss over long seconds and then pulling slowly away. Her eyes fluttered a bit as he stroked her jaw and said,

"Such a good girl you are. Always such a good girl. And you wish you could see into minds as I do, don't you?"

Bellatrix nodded vigorously, but Voldemort considered the situation. He could not teach her Legilimency, because doing so would require granting her access into his own mind. He was the most skilled Occlumens in the world, but he could not risk Bellatrix (or anyone, really) seeing his memories or his true thoughts. He could, though, teach her how to block Legilimency. It would be useful if she were an Occlumens; it would help ensure their enemies couldn't drag information out of her. Of course, Voldemort was a powerful enough Legilimens that he would always be able to override her mental blocks. He cleared his throat and said,

"I shall teach you Occlumency. In a time of war, it seems more than mildly prudent that you should be able to keep your mind protected from invasion."

Bellatrix looked ecstatic then, and Voldemort gestured to the two seats before the fireplace. Bellatrix sat, her hands shaking a bit as she folded them in her lap and stared eagerly up at her master. She should be distraught right now, he considered. She'd just learned that her husband had put a child into another woman. But Bellatrix paid no heed to Rodolphus' personal doings. She only cared about him, about Voldemort. He shut his eyes for a half second to reign in any thoughts that were bubbling up in his mind about that. When he looked down to Bellatrix again, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at her, and he said sharply,

"Once I'm in, push me back out again."

Bellatrix looked confused, and her full lips parted before she said, "But, My Lord, I don't know how to -"

"Legilimens," he said confidently, crashing into her mind like a stone hurtling through glass. He immediately tried to find a memory to humiliate her, one she would not want him to see. He flicked quickly through flashes of recent battles, of childhood playtime, and then he settled on a memory from her third year at Hogwarts.

Bellatrix had just begun to enter the awkward stage of puberty. She'd turned from a gangly little girl into a curvy, bleeding woman seemingly overnight. Bellatrix stared at herself in the mirror in the dormitory bathroom, eyeing the four or five pimples that had bloomed on her face. She picked up the little jar of Zit-B-Gone that Azalea Greengrass had shared with her. Bellatrix dabbed a bit of the gloop onto her face and -

Voldemort felt a tiny twinge in his mind. He stared down at Bellatrix's face in the office and saw the effort there, the way she was trying to push him out with 'physical' force inside her head.

"Replace the memory," Voldemort instructed her firmly. Bellatrix's brow furrowed and her breath quickened. He continued to watch in her her mind as her teenaged self tried to get her pimples to disappear. There was a little flicker of something else, a momentary interruption.

Bellatrix was on a beach, waves crashing behind her as she jabbed her wand down at a captured Mudblood and cried, "Crucio!" The witch shrieked and writhed on the sand.

The little flicker, the momentary replacement, was gone after just a few seconds, and Voldemort was back in the Hogwarts bathroom, watching Bellatrix tearfully stare at her pimpled face. He pulled himself smoothly from her mind and shrugged, tipping his head.

"Not a failure at all for your first try," he admitted, and Bellatrix looked tired. She took a shaking breath and nodded, her hands tightening around one another.

"Close your eyes," Voldemort said, and she did. He watched her face, her elegant features on her porcelain skin, and he murmured, "Imagine a vast, glassy lake. Black water. Still and quiet. Shores so far away you can not see them. Imagine the darkest night, an endless sky full of countless stars. Imagine doors that lead nowhere. Open and shut them, one after the other. Open a door to an empty room, then close it behind you. Find a quiet corner in a dark and quiet dungeon and sit down. Feel the cold, the damp. The nothing."

Bellatrix was almost in a trance then. He'd spoken slowly, giving her his instructions one at a time until she'd descended into a state of deep relaxation. He pushed back into her mind again and felt a tiny quiver of resistance. He tried to pull a memory from her wedding day, but he found himself walking down an empty hallway in her mind. He smirked, proud of how well she was doing, but then he opened one of her mental doors and he was dancing with her at Castle Lestrange, her wedding gown billowing about her as she stared up at him.

'His hands don't feel the same on me,' she whispered. 'They never will, My Lord.'

'They don't have to,' the Dark Lord replied, glancing over to Rodolphus as he said to Bellatrix, 'You are married to Rodolphus Lestrange, but you are mine, Bella. Aren't you?'

Bellatrix nodded, feeling tears come at once to her eyes as she realised how fiercely she adored her master. His voice was like a knife in the air as he hissed, 'Do not cry. Not about something so silly as a husband.'

"Bella," Voldemort barked sharply, and Bellatrix's eyes blinked open in his office. She seemed to breathe for the first time in a long while, and he dragged his thumb over his bottom lip as he said thoughtfully, "That was a good first try. I felt real resistance. You'll need to practise, even on your own. Make your own mazes, your own empty skies and seas. That way, when someone invades your mind, they get lost. It was too easy for me to find that memory; you only held me away for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," Bellatrix murmured from the chair, sounding ashamed. But Voldemort said again, "It was good for your first try. I do not wish to exhaust you; I need you to stay energised in case of emergency."

He moved to stand before the fire, watching the flames dance and sway as he said quietly to her,

"It isn't the same, you know. Rodolphus putting a child into Sabine Yaxley, and me doing to it to you."

"I know it's not the same, My Lord," Bellatrix said from behind him. He knew she remembered well the night of Narcissa's wedding to Lucius, when Voldemort had made it plain that Rodolphus was not entitled to the same brazen acts of infidelity that happened between the Dark Lord and Bellatrix. She surprised him now by saying meekly, "I beg you not to punish him too harshly. I have not… have not given him my body in a great long while. I can hardly fault him for finding pleasure elsewhere."

"I have neither the need nor the desire to hear about Rodolphus Lestrange's sex life," Voldemort snapped, turning around to glare down at Bellatrix. He remembered, suddenly and unexpectedly, the time he'd used Contusio curses to beat her up, to will her from his mind and his want. He thought Rodolphus Lestrange might be due for a few Contusio curses himself. But Voldemort steadied his face and reached down to snarl his fingers in Bellatrix's hair.

"You came here to tell me about Sabine Yaxley's pregnancy. You've done that," he noted. "Do you want to go back to your family Christmas Party now?"

"Not especially, My Lord." Bellatrix stared down at her hands. She looked briefly to her left hand, where her engagement and wedding rings from Rodolphus rested. Then her eyes settled on the elaborate ring Voldemort had put on her right hand. She grazed her left fingers over the ring, and Voldemort cleared his throat roughly.

"I'm staying here, for the time being," Voldemort said. "On the second floor, in a suite of rooms. Come up there with me, will you?"

Bellatrix looked up, trying and failing to suppress a happy smile, and she nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

**December 1973**

**Malfoy Manor**

"Take off my clothes, Bella."

Her fingers shook as she stared at him, keeping her eyes locked on his as she obeyed his orders. His suite here was elegant and spacious, and they were standing on an elaborate Turkish rug. The fire was finally starting to warm the room, but Bellatrix still shivered as she unhooked the Dark Lord's woven black outer robe. She pushed it carefully from his shoulders and hung it on the rack beside the bed. Then she moved to his buttoned tunic, but her fingers fumbled and she heard him murmur,

"Your hands are very clumsy tonight. Why?"

"I… it is difficult for me not to…" Bellatrix struggled to think of a way to phrase it, and when she felt the buzz of him pushing into her mind, she made no attempt to keep him out. She pulled his tunic from him and let him feel the powerful desire she bore him. She turned round from the rack to see him unbuttoning the placket of his own trousers, and he looked quite happy with himself.

"If it is so difficult for you to focus on disrobing me, then get yourself naked," he said sharply. "Be quick about it."

She stumbled and staggered a little as she hurried to get her brown velvet gown and undergarments off. Her fingers moved to unhook her bra, a pale blue silk confection, and suddenly she felt Voldemort's hand behind her back. He seized her curly hair in his other fist and pulled her head back, forcing her to look at him. As Bellatrix met his gaze again, he hissed into the darkness,

"Do these breasts belong to you?"

He grazed his hand over the silk of her bra, and Bellatrix shook her head no. He cocked his head and said in a sarcastic tone, "What was that? I couldn't hear you. Do these breasts belong to you?"

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, gasping as he deftly unhooked the bra and tossed it aside. He pushed her roughly toward the bed until the backs of her thighs hit the coverlet. His movements were crude and his hands coarse as he arranged her onto her back. He loomed over her, pawing mercilessly at her left breast, and he shook his head.

"No. They don't belong to you. They belong to me, don't they, Bella?"

She nodded silently and closed her eyes against the feel of him grabbing and petting her, but he snapped again,

"I did not hear you. What did you say?"

"They belong… to you, My Lord," Bellatrix mumbled, her fingers curling on the brocade covers. She mewled when she felt his fingers knife between her thighs, as she felt him touching her there with smooth, expert movements.

"What about here?" she heard him ask calmly. "Does this bit belong to you?"

"No." Bellatrix forced her eyes open and marveled at the hungry look on his face. He drew lazy circles on her with his thumb, making her moan against her will, but she was finally able to say, "That part belongs to you, too, My Lord."

She shut her eyes and thought distantly of Rodolphus, of how she was legally his. She thought of Sabine Yaxley, of Rodolphus' child in the girl's womb. Then she heard Lord Voldemort say in a tone that was more gentle than she'd have expected,

"Look at me."

Bellatrix did, feeling herself hurtling toward the edge as he massaged her breast and her nub at the same time. His dark eyes glinted oddly in the firelight, and he said in a firm but quiet voice,

"I do not want him in your head right now. I do not want his whore in your head right now, or his bastard. Think only of me, Bella. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix nodded. Now she could help but think of the Dark Lord, of the being who was both man and something so far beyond a mere human. His face dipped to meet hers, and she drank in his kiss like it was water in the desert. She felt her body give way to the chasm of her climax, felt herself clenching around his fingers and crying against his mouth. She was dizzy, even lying down, and surprised when she realised he was kissing her neck as she descended from her high. His mouth latched on and suckled, leaving marks that Rodolphus would see. Bellatrix ensnared her hands into the Dark Lord's cropped hair, and her voice was a desperate whisper as she begged him,

"More, please. Please, please, My Lord. Bruise me there. Leave yourself… on me."

He sucked and bit all over the place, the pain so intense that Bellatrix breathed through gritted teeth in desperation. She remembered the time he'd healed away the bruises he'd given her, that time in the shower. These were marks he would not heal; these were his tattoo on her skin for her husband to see. Bellatrix mentally started thinking of all the low-cut dresses and robes she wore, wondering how long she could drag out the visibility of these marks.

Voldemort laughed gruffly against her skin, and Bellatrix tried to expel him from her head with a playful little push. She imagined taking him by the shoulders, opening a door, and pushing him through it into a great black void. Suddenly Voldemort raised his face from her neck. His lips were shining and swollen from the effort of marking her up, but his eyes glinted and his voice was impressed as he said,

"That was good. Do it again."

Bellatrix furrowed her brow, trying to ignore the beautiful pain all over her neck and decolletage. She felt him come crashing into her mind and immediately constructed mental walls, mazes and pathways that led nowhere. He took a mental sledgehammer to her feeble walls and drew out a memory.

She was lying on her bed in the little room at the Grey's Inn, that spring of her final year at Hogwarts.

'Tell me you're mine,' the Dark Lord hissed from behind her, filling her so completely and painfully that Bellatrix could hardly find the breath to answer. She turned her face away from the pillow and managed to squeak out,

'I'm yours. I… My Lord, I belong to you. I am yours.'

"Bellatrix! You're not trying. Push me out," she heard him insist now, here in Malfoy Manor where he hovered above her. Bellatrix snapped to rights. In her mind, she took his hand and walked with him to the edge of a mighty cliff that led steeply into a churning sea, and she jumped. The memory of Grey's Inn disappeared, and there was black cold all around them.

Voldemort nodded at her and murmured again, "Good. Very good."

He kissed her again, and Bellatrix didn't care then whether he could see her memories or her thoughts or anything else. She wrapped her arms around him and felt him push her knees apart. When he glided into her body, it was in a fluid, delicious motion that blended seamlessly into his slow, deep thrusts.

Bellatrix's hands moved to his backside, to his hips, and he let her do it. He let her touch him there, and he even seemed to enjoy it. He finally broke their kiss so that he could return to putting vicious marks on her neck. Bellatrix squeezed at his backside, scraping her nails carefully up his back on instinct.

"Harder," he growled against her, and Bellatrix was surprised to hear him say it. Her hands froze on his back, though he kept rolling himself into her body, and he raised his face to glare at her. When he said the word again, there was an icy bite in his tone. "Harder."

Bellatrix pulled her sharp fingernails up his back more firmly, wondering if he'd punish her for leaving marks on him the way she was doing to her. She dug her nails in, relishing the feel of his skin under her touch. She knew these marks would be hidden by his robes, that he probably only liked it because -

"It doesn't matter why I like it," he snarled, bucking his hips harder a few times until Bellatrix yelped. He bit a spot near her collarbone so hard that her eyes welled, and then he kissed the skin there and said. "Do it again. Harder."

Over the next few minutes, a frenzied but steady rhythm developed between them. He was pumping his cock into her, and she was dragging her fingernails hard up and down his back. He was putting bruises and stains all over her shoulders and neck, his fingers holding tightly onto her scalp. Their voices mingled, little cries of pain mixing with moans of immense pleasure as everything blended into a hazy swirl in Bellatrix's mind.

At some point, she came again, a gentle little detonation that seemed to trigger something inside the Dark Lord. He pushed his hips forward hard, keeping himself deep inside Bellatrix as he crushed his mouth to hers. He kissed her through his climax, and finally Bellatrix's hands went flat against the warm skin of his back.

When he finally pulled away and made his way from the bed, he turned, and Bellatrix could see the angry red criss-cross marks her nails had left on his back. Her heart raced at the sight of that, but she knew the visible proof she would take home to Rodolphus would be even more obvious.

"Bella," Voldemort said, leaning heavily on the desk and dragging his fingers through his hair as he recovered from all of it. She eyed him expectantly, and he gestured toward her neck as he said, "The bruising will be more obvious, more dramatic in the morning. If you want to show something to anyone at Castle Lestrange, the statement will be stronger tomorrow. Go into the bathroom and wash yourself up. You're staying the night here."

Bellatrix nodded. He hadn't asked. There had been no room for questioning his orders. It was a command, plain and simple, that she go clean his seed from her thighs, that she wash his saliva from her skin, that she soap away the sweat and the grit of the day. Then she was to sleep with him, her limbs tangled with his, because she belonged to him. To Lord Voldemort.

Bellatrix touched at the ring on her right finger as she scurried into the bathroom, feeling a surge of powerful happiness as she did.

* * *

**August 1976**

**London**

Bellatrix had chosen the absolute worst time to come to Diagon Alley. The last week of August was when parents and children frenetically filled the streets and shops, snatching up the supplies and books needed for the upcoming term at Hogwarts. Bellatrix passed Flourish and Blotts, watching a gangly little boy balance books precariously as his father tried to convince him that the books were too heavy. The boy snapped back at his father that he didn't need help, that he could do it on his own. Bellatrix smirked and thought, Refusing help like that? Overambitious? Slytherin, to be certain.

A few people gave her odd looks and terrified stares as she passed. The Dark Lord was powerful enough now that people referred to him by any moniker other than 'Lord Voldemort.' It was widely known that the Ministry of Magic was heavily infiltrated by Death Eaters, and many Blood Traitors, Mudbloods, and their sympathisers had gone retreated into reclusive lives out of fear. Bellatrix Lestrange, they all knew, was a proud and loyal warrior for Lord Voldemort. There were stories. She'd burned down ten houses in as many days. She derived pleasure from torturing people into insanity. She would never hesitate with a Killing Curse. Stories - most of them very true - but no proof for arrest. Just enough to create a public fear of Bellatrix Lestrange. She liked it that way, and so did the Dark Lord.

She'd just left Eeylops Owl Emporium, having placed an order for five new owls to be delivered to Castle Lestrange. There was enough correspondence among Death Eaters now that she and Rodolphus required their own real owlery with multiple messengers. Now she was making her way through the bustling alley toward Gringotts. She needed to withdraw ten thousand Galleons in cash; the Dark wanted her to keep a substantial amount of money in the secure hideaway at Capella Cottage.

But as Bellatrix approached the towering bank building, her steps halted. There was a woman before her, an auburn-haired woman leading a very small girl out of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Bellatrix stood, frozen and wordless as the madness of Diagon Alley moved around her. She watched the auburn-haired woman settle into a chair at a table outside the ice cream shop, and she hoisted the little child into a chair beside her. The little girl giggled when the woman handed her a spoon, and they dug into the sundae between them.

For a moment, Bellatrix considered simply continuing on to the bank. She had a task to accomplish, after all. But instead she allowed her feet to carry her over to the table, and she said in a quiet voice,

"Good afternoon, Sabine."

Sabine Yaxley looked up from her sundae, a little bit of vanilla ice cream on her lips as her green eyes went wide. She hurriedly wiped her face with a napkin and flew to her feet.

"Bellatrix," she said nervously, sounding far more like a mouse than usual. The two women had not seen one another in over two years. Sabine had been hidden away and had given birth at the Yaxley family home, where she presumably now lived. The Yaxleys, whilst an old and noble family, were not fabulously wealthy, but there was no chance Sabine and her daughter could ever live in Castle Lestrange.

Bellatrix turned her eyes to the daughter in question and glared. The child shrunk away a bit, evidently frightened of Bellatrix, but Sabine Yaxley said with feigned bravery,

"Sit up, Eudora, and say hello to… to Madam Lestrange."

"Hullo," the child muttered, and Bellatrix just continued studying her face. Finally, still looking at the girl, she said to Sabine,

"She looks just like her father, doesn't she? She has his eyes. The shape of his face." Bellatrix raised her eyes to Sabine, who looked on the verge of tears. Sabine said in a shaking voice,

"I never meant to… I'm so sorry, Bellatrix."

"Sorry for what?" Bellatrix shrugged lightly. "You've done your duty to our Lord to the best of your ability; you've squeezed out a pureblood. A bastard, but still a pureblood. Good on you. I presume you receive the money Rodolphus sends you regularly?"

"It's for… for clothing and such for her," Sabine murmured, but she nodded and said, "We are very grateful."

"Eudora, you said. Is that her name? What a lovely name for a lovely child." Bellatrix stared at the dark-haired little girl again, seeing Rodolphus' features all over her. She tipped her head and spoke again to Sabine as she said, "Do you know, Rabastan and Rodolphus had a little sister. I remember attending her funeral when I was just a little girl… dragon pox, a terrible case, apparently. She was not yet three. I wonder whether she looked like your little Eudora before she fell ill and died."

This time, when Bellatrix found Sabine's face, she saw a set of green eyes welling with tears, silently pleading. Bellatrix sniffed lightly and painted an insincere smile on her face. "So very good to see you after all this time, Sabine. Goodbye, Eudora."

She walked briskly away, keeping her head held high and her shoulders back. But as she neared Gringotts, she knew she needed a mental break, just for a moment. She edged toward Knockturn Alley, hoping she might find a small, interesting trinket in Borgin and Burke's to distract her mind. She struggled to keep her face steady as she realised she'd just seen Rodolphus' bastard with her own eyes. Suddenly she had a strange feeling, and she paused in the dark, narrow passageway that led to Knockturn Alley. Bellatrix pulled her wand from her robes and turned round in a slow circle. There was nothing up toward Diagon Alley, up toward the noise and bustle. Bellatrix turned back down to the dark quiet of Knockturn Alley, and she found herself face-to-face with a witch in Ministry robes.

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" the witch asked sharply, her own pale wand out. Bellatrix shifted on her feet and cocked up an eyebrow, demanding in a surly tone,

"And who might you be?"

"I am an Auror from the Ministry. My name is Sonata Bones," said the woman matter-of-factly, and Bellatrix's heart began to race. She gave no outward sign at all of recognition, shrugging at the witch as though that information was meaningless. Sonata Bones continued, her face twisting and her voice cracking, "Perhaps you're more familiar with my daughter… M-Madrigal. Madrigal Bones. Surely you remember her among all your many victims, Madam Lestrange?"

Bellatrix pretended to remember something, and she nodded knowingly. "Madrigal Bones. Ah, yes. The Hufflepuff girl from all those years ago? With the… hemlock, was it? I remember hearing about her. Tragic. So sorry for your loss."

"How dare you!" Sonata Bones hissed, and she wrenched a rolled parchment from her robes, which she thrust at Bellatrix. "By the authority of the Minister for Magic, I am placing you under arrest at once, for countless charges of torture and murder."

Bellatrix tossed the parchment onto the ground, into a little puddle, and she shook her head. "Can't let you do that, I'm afraid."

When Sonata Bones raised her wand, Bellatrix had no time to think properly. Suddenly everything in her mind coalesced into a powerful surge of fear, anger, and uncertainty. She jabbed her own wand forward until the tip nearly touched Sonata Bones' neck, and she growled, "Avada Kedavra!"

Sonata Bones collapsed into a heap on the cobblestones. Bellatrix panicked, standing over the body of the Auror she'd just killed. She Vanished the corpse at once and snatched her arrest warrant from the ground, deciding that going to Gringotts was of very low priority just now. She wrenched her eyes shut and turned hard to her right, Disapparating with a resounding crack!

When the pinching and whirling stopped, Bellatrix was outside Malfoy Manor. She dashed through the gates and the gardens and up the marble steps, where she used her wand to fling open the enormous doors. She stood in the towering foyer and screamed,

"Narcissa! Narcissa, come out here!"

After a few moments, Bellatrix heard running footsteps a storey up, and then a breathless Narcissa Malfoy appeared at the top of the double staircase.

"What's happened, Bella?" she demanded, and Bellatrix ran up the stairs to meet her at the top. When she did, Narcissa put her hands on Bellatrix's shoulders and read the doom and despair on her sister's face.

"She looks just like him," Bellatrix heard herself mutter helplessly. Then, everything mingling in her thoughts, she added, "Her mother, Cissy, her mother…"

"For Merlin's sake, what are you talking about?" Narcissa hissed, leading Bellatrix into a small reading room off the corridor and shutting the door. She pushed Bellatrix into one of the leather chairs and went to the serving tray of liquor in the corner. As she poured Bellatrix some firewhisky, she said, "Who did you see? Whose mother?"

"Rodolphus' bastard. Eudora. The little creature looks just like him," Bellatrix croaked after swigging down some firewhisky. Then she shut her eyes and added. "Madrigal Bones' mother. Sonata. The Auror… she was there to arrest me, and I -"

She was silenced then as the door to the reading room was forced open. The door hit a bookshelf so fiercely that books tumbled to the ground. Lord Voldemort did not seem to pay this any mind as he moved smoothly into the room, a look of vicious rage on his face. Narcissa curtsied and started to move past Voldemort, but he snarled at her,

"Stay, Narcissa."

She did, turning around and flashing Bellatrix a look of terror and pity. Bellatrix set her glass of firewhisky down and nodded, mumbling, "My Lord. I am… I am so -"

"Incompetent?" hissed Voldemort, and that word wounded Bellatrix more deeply than anything else in her entire life had done. She felt the breath go out of her, and she was very glad she was still sitting, for she knew she would not be able to stand if he'd said that to her. His dark eyes flashed red for a moment. Perhaps Bellatrix had imagined the effect, or perhaps not, but it was frightening just the same. He pointed his wand at her and said, "Legilimens."

On instinct, Bellatrix's mind put up walls, built mazes and seas, but Voldemort used his boot to kick roughly at Bellatrix's shin, and he insisted, "Don't you dare keep me out now, Bellatrix. Let me in."

She did, letting him see everything that had happened in Diagon Alley. Her husband's mistress and the bastard she'd borne him. The little child with Rodolphus' eyes and face, eating ice cream as though it didn't matter that her very existence was an abomination. Bellatrix escaping to Knockturn Alley, being confronted by the mother of the first girl she'd ever killed. Panicking when faced with arrest… casting the Killing Curse, then Vanishing the corpse and Disapparating here.

Voldemort yanked himself out of Bellatrix's mind, his face shaking with anger. He slashed his wand roughly toward her and yelled, "Contusio!"

Bellatrix felt a shear of pain rip from her right shoulder down to her left hip, as though the Dark Lord had invisibly cut her wide open. She cried out and leaned over in the chair, but could still hear him as he said,

"An Auror's mind contains invaluable information. You should have captured her and brought her here for interrogation. Killing her in broad daylight? In front of anybody? Wasting that information? You useless… Contusio!"

Bellatrix wasn't sure which hurt worse this time: the way he'd called her 'useless,' or the way his spell felt like someone had bashed her jaw with an enormous rock. She held her knuckles to her bleeding mouth, hearing Narcissa gasp in barely-concealed horror behind the Dark Lord.

"Contusio… Contusio!"

He cast the curse a few more times until Bellatrix's ribs screamed in pain, until her eye socket crackled and her eyelid swelled up. Her chest felt like she'd been kicked. They had been here before, the two of them. But Bellatrix was genuinely afraid this time it would end differently than the last time. After a long moment of heavy silence, she looked to her sister, whose pale eyes leaked with tears where she stood by the open doorway. Behind her, Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy peered into the room from the corridor, their faces concerned and curious at the same time.

Bellatrix wiped again at her bloodied lips, and she looked to her shaking right hand. She saw the way blood from her mouth covered the elaborate emerald ring the Dark Lord had put there. Bellatrix heaved with sobs, but it hurt too badly breathe, so she tried to stop herself crying.

"You were so emotional over seeing your husband's bastard that you were not thinking clearly. Isn't that so?" Voldemort demanded, and Bellatrix nodded silently. Her jaw hurt too much to speak. He paced before her and continued, "You will never behave so rashly again. Not ever, or a cracked jaw will be the very least of your concerns. Do you understand me?"

Bellatrix nodded again, unable to stop the grotesque dribble of blood that leaked from her mouth. Voldemort turned to Narcissa and said sharply,

"She is to stay here for the immediate future. I don't trust her around Rodolphus without supervision. Get rooms arranged for her. Go to Castle Lestrange and fetch some of her clothes."

"Yes, My Lord," Narcissa said softly. "At once."

He hurried past Narcissa, striding from the reading room and slamming the door shut behind him, sending more books falling from the shelves. Bellatrix was left crying and in agony as Narcissa murmured repeated 'tergeo' a few times to clean up the blood. She did not completely heal her sister's wounds, and Bellatrix knew why. The Dark Lord had not given them permission to undo his damage. But Narcissa did crouch down before Bellatrix, and she said in a grave tone,

"You angered him because you behaved rashly, because you cost him valuable information, Bella. I think he will move past it quickly. He thinks differently about you than he does about the rest of us."

Bellatrix opened her mouth, hearing and feeling her jaw crack ominously, but she managed to mumble, "He gave you orders, didn't he? Get rooms set up for me, send for my clothes… so that I can stay here under his watch. Because he doesn't trust me anymore. You'd best get to those orders, Cissy."

"Bella…" Narcissa cooed, petting her elder sister's wild dark curls affectionately, "if you think he's keeping you here because he's angry with you…"

She sighed and leaned forward, kissing the top of Bellatrix's head as if she were the elder sister and not the younger. Bellatrix just closed her eyes and heard Narcissa say, "Oh, Bella. I'll get you clothes and rooms immediately. Then you'll rest. Sleep off this awful day, all right?"

* * *

A few hours later, Bellatrix sat at a small table in the suite Narcissa had set up for her. She wore her own clean white nightgown, which her sister had helped her put on over her bruised and battered torso. Now her right hand shook as she spooned black bean soup between her swollen lips. The soup was scalding hot, but it felt good going down Bellatrix's sore chest. Narcissa had left an hour earlier, afraid to linger. It turned out she'd been right to depart quickly, for now Bellatrix heard the door to her suite open quietly, and Lord Voldemort walked in.

Bellatrix started to rise, to stand respectfully, but she felt her body easing back down onto the chair as Voldemort approached with a bare hand extended to control her. He loomed over her and stared, his face unreadable for a long moment. Finally he sat opposite her and sniffed.

"Is there not a jar of butterfly weed balm in this entire vacuous mansion?" he asked sharply, folding his hands on the table. "Is there not a single witch or wizard capable of casting rudimentary healing spells?"

Bellatrix set down her soup spoon and said, "My Lord, we did not know whether we were allowed -"

"What a little fool you are," he interrupted quickly, "to think I'd want you to stay looking like this."

He gestured up and down her form, from her swollen, mangled face to the way she was sitting gingerly. He snatched his own wand from his robes and murmured, "Curasallo. Episkey. Reparifors."

Bellatrix could feel the bruises evaporating, the fractures mending, the inflammation receding. Within a few moments, she felt very much like herself again. She said nothing and she did not dare make eye contact. She stared at her soup and listened as Lord Voldemort said in a much milder tone,

"You were not entirely wrong to kill Sonata Bones. But you did waste information by doing so before we interrogated her. How did she track you so precisely? Against what other Death Eaters does the Ministry have open arrest warrants? Now we'll never know."

That wasn't entirely true, Bellatrix knew, for they had a great many spies among the Aurors. But he was right; she'd had no idea what valuable knowledge had been contained inside Sonata Bones' mind. Because Bellatrix had quickly killed the witch and Vanished her body, that knowledge was now gone forever. Bellatrix looked up when she felt him leaning across the tiny table. When she did, his face was much closer to hers.

"There is a cottage, one I built with my own magic, that exists largely so that I can ensure I do not lose you… from my ranks." He added those last three words almost as an afterthought, but his brow furrowed with consternation as he said more harshly, "Aurors are openly encouraged by Bartemius Crouch to use deadly force against Death Eaters. You could have been killed today, and I refuse to lose you. Don't you ever do anything like that to me again, you understand?"

"I understand, My Lord, and I am more sorry than I could… ever… tell you." Bellatrix fought to keep herself from crying; there had been more than enough of that in the last day. Voldemort settled back into his chair and seemed thoughtful as he noted,

"She does look rather like him, doesn't she?"

Eudora, he meant. He'd seen the child in Bellatrix's head. She sniffed and nodded, and Voldemort waited until she met her eyes before he spoke again.

"When all the fighting is done, you will bear a child that looks rather like me. You will take that child to Florean Fortescue's, and Sabine Yaxley will walk by whilst you eat a sundae. And then Sabine Yaxley will have to reconcile a very important truth: that she was worthy of bearing a bastard unto Rodolphus Lestrange, but you were worthy of bearing an heir unto the Dark Lord himself."

Bellatrix could not speak. She could not find words to say. What could one say to something like that? She was silent as he rose from his chair, as he pulled her right hand to his lips and kissed the emerald ring he'd put on her. She was silent as he walked toward the door, saying over his shoulder,

"Get some rest, Bella; you've a full day of interrogations to complete tomorrow."

* * *

**21 September 1976**

**Castle Lestrange**

"Happy birthday, Madam Lestrange."

Bellatrix forced herself to smile a bit at fat old Albert Macmillan, who smelled of licorice and ale when he sidled up before Bellatrix.

"Thank you, Mr Macmillan," she acknowledged. The wizard worked in the Department of Transportation, and was a close associate of Rabastan Lestrange in tracking both friends and enemies. Bellatrix knew this birthday party that Rodolphus had thrown her was as much a networking opportunity as anything else, so she smiled more broadly and inquired,

"I heard you've got a new granddaughter. Is that right?"

"Yes!" Albert Macmillan looked overjoyed at Bellatrix's recognition, and he nodded vigorously, sending his strawberry blond hair shaking. "My son Wilbur and his wife… they've just had their third, a girl called Julia."

"My most heartfelt congratulations to the entire Macmillan family," Bellatrix said, and then she saw over her shoulder that her father was speaking furtively with his brother Orion near the food tables. Bellatrix frowned and mumbled, "Would you excuse me?"

She didn't wait for his answer before she hurried across the room. Something was amok. Halfway across the ballroom, Bellatrix felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled round to see Narcissa and Lucius. They'd intercepted her before she could reach Cygnus and Orion Black. Narcissa's lips were pinched tightly, and Lucius glanced over to the other men.

"What's Daddy on about with Uncle Orion, then?" Bellatrix demanded.

"Your cousin Sirius was the sole beneficiary when your uncle Alphard died last year," Lucius said in a sharp, icy tone. "The boy decided that since he was financially independent and shared no values with the House of Black, he would leave it entirely."

Bellatrix scowled. "Where's the boy now?"

"He spent the summer living with one James Potter," Narcissa said gravely, "and has since returned to Hogwarts, where he's obviously protected by Dumbledore. Daddy and Uncle Orion are quite convinced that Sirius is a full-blown member of the Order of the Phoenix."

That group, that group of wizards and witches hostile to the Dark Lord, finally had grown so organised that even the Death Eaters knew its name. Bellatrix turned to look at her father, feeling a roiling pit of anger in her stomach that her cousin would so deeply betray them all.

"I'll kill him," she murmured softly. Her eyes were locked on her father and her uncle, but she spoke to Narcissa and Lucius. "I'll kill Sirius Black if it's the last thing I ever do."

"Bella." Narcissa turned Bellatrix back around by her shoulder and said firmly. "Today is your twenty-fifth birthday. Your husband has gone to great expense and effort to throw you a proper party. Do celebrate, won't you?"

Bellatrix nodded and huffed. She walked toward Rodolphus, who was chatting with his brother, and she linked her arm with his.

"Hello, Rabastan," she greeted her brother-in-law, not minding that she'd interrupted the brothers' conversation. Rabastan, who had always been a bit more handsome than Rodolphus, nodded and raised his chalice of wine to Bellatrix.

"The happiest of birthdays to you."

"Indeed," Rodolphus concurred, leaning down to kiss Bellatrix softly on her cheek. The brush of his lips was alien and strange. It was not altogether an unpleasant feeling to be kissed by her husband, yet Bellatrix felt no desire for anything further. As it had always been with them, the contact meant nothing. Nothing at all. But she raised her eyes to Rodolphus and said in a saccharine tone,

"Thank you for the party, dearest. I think people are beginning to fizzle out. Everyone's tired these days."

"Can you blame them?" Rabastan sighed, drinking from his chalice. "Every day is new duel, a new battle, a new infiltration. War is positively exhausting."

"But the payoff will be greater than any of us could ever imagine," Bellatrix insisted, and both brothers nodded their assent. Rodolphus kissed Bellatrix on the lips, and once again she felt nothing. But he flashed her a little smile and said,

"Go say your farewells to everyone, then, before they've all gone. Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

She did as he said, going about and thanking the straggling guests for coming. She gave an especially long goodbye to Narcissa and Lucius and to her parents. Then, leaving the mostly-empty ballroom behind, Bellatrix made her way up the winding flight of stairs to her private suite of rooms. She walked so quickly through the sitting-room that she did not notice the figure in the chair.

* * *

He'd never been this drunk. Not ever. Not as a Hogwarts student experimenting with liquor for the first time. Not as a lowly but aspirational clerk at Borgin and Burkes. Not when he'd first begun to amass followers and had been required to attend seemingly endless parties and meetings. Not ever, not once in his life of fifty-one years, had Lord Voldemort been this drunk.

He couldn't go out to the ballroom and mingle. It wasn't in him tonight. Not after the last exhausting week of harvesting Muggles for the army of Inferi he was creating. Necromancy was powerful magic of the darkest variety, and it was draining.

And Lord Voldemort was very tired after a week of that.

So instead of mingling at Bellatrix's birthday party, he'd waited for her in her chambers, armed with a bottle of firewhisky that started out full and wound up quite empty. It felt good, in a strange and unanticipated way, to have his head swim and his limbs feel heavy. It felt good in a way that things usually felt awful, because Voldemort always needed to be in control. Just now he did not feel in control of the way his eyes blinked slowly, nor the way the sitting-room seemed to spin a bit.

He sipped at what he promised himself would be his last tumbler of firewhisky, and he thought back to the previous month. He'd beat Bellatrix into oblivion, ostensibly because she had lost him information by too rashly executing an Auror. That was part of his anger, to be certain. The other part had been the thought of losing her. It had terrified him, and the Dark Lord was not meant to be terrified. So he'd bloodied and battered her and then healed her up and barked an order, and that was the last he'd seen of her in person.

He was surprised tonight at how quickly she walked by him on her way to the bathroom. She didn't see him there, sitting alone in the darkness, because she wasn't expecting anyone in her rooms. She didn't see him because she wasn't looking. She continued straight on through her suite to her bathroom, lighting the lanterns and humming as she stripped off her dark green taffeta gown.

He could see her perfectly from here, hidden in the shadows. He could see her perfectly as she stood in a matching set of black silk knickers and bra, carefully pulling her expensive earrings out and laying them beside the sink. He could see her perfectly as she pulled pins from her hair and sent her dark curls tumbling down over her shoulders. He could see the elegant curves and the sharp angles of her, and then he couldn't take it anymore. He silently Vanished the tumbler in his hand and pulled himself to his feet. He started to walk toward the bathroom, but he stumbled a bit when his foot hit the low table. He hissed a swear or two beneath his breath, and suddenly Bellatrix was dashing out of the bathroom with her wand held out.

"It's just me, Bella," Voldemort heard his voice mumble, trying to reassure himself that he'd still have been able to wandlessly deflect anything she threw at him. Bellatrix's mouth dropped open and her wand lowered as she walked quickly to close the gap between them.

"My Lord," she breathed, looking him up and down. "Are you hurt? Has something happened?"

She was fretting over him like a mother hen, searching for evidence of scars or wounds that might explain his odd posture and tone… and presence. Voldemort swatted her hands away from him and said in far too flinty a voice for the occasion,

"Stop fussing. You are not a healer, and I have not come here for medical treatment."

Bellatrix pulled back a little, and the fear in her eyes morphed into confusion, then into a knowing stare as she whispered carefully, "My Lord, have you… have you been drinking?"

"What business is it of yours?" Voldemort snarled, leaning forward with the intention of hovering over her and intimidating her. But he nearly lost his balance, and his left hand flew to the chair beside him to grip its back. He shut his eyes, giving in to the way the liquor flowed warmly through him, and he muttered, "It has… It has been a long week."

In his mind, he could see the blue glow of his wandlight in the cave where he'd hidden Salazar Slytherin's locket. In the lake around the hiding place, reanimated corpses lay, still and waiting, laced with ancient, powerful spells to serve the Dark Lord should anything threaten his Horcrux. Voldemort had just been at the cave earlier today, and he'd been so drained from all the magic he'd used that he could hardly Apparate here without fear of splinching. The whisky had not replenished his energy, but it had at least dulled the feeling of weakness.

"My Lord," he heard Bellatrix saying, and she felt him pulling him by his elbow, guiding him toward her bedroom, "Would you like to stay the night here? I can… I can go sleep with Rodolphus if you -"

"Bella!"

For some reason, his voice roared her name like a curse, like a prayer to a deaf god. He managed to pin her against the wall in her bedroom, to lean heavily against the wall with a hand on either side of her head. In the dim lamplight, she stared at up at him as though she had no idea what to do now. He could feel that, throbbing from her mind into his. She did not know what to do now.

Voldemort snatched her right hand and pressed it against the front of his trousers. He was utterly soft, probably from the drink and his own fatigue, but something inside his chest fluttered when Bellatrix began unbuttoning his trousers. After more than seven years, she knew his body almost as well as he did. She knew what he liked. She knew just the right places to kiss and touch to wake him up.

He closed his eyes and just stood there, profoundly drunk and dizzy, as she carefully stripped off his clothes. She paused periodically to stroke at his half-hard cock. When his chest was bare, she kissed the light dusting of hair on his sternum, brushing her cheek against his skin. Voldemort felt his cock twitch in her hand, felt himself starting to grow firm for her, and he whispered her name into the quiet room.

"I can raise the dead, you know," he mumbled, and if Bellatrix gave him a look of horror or confusion, he didn't see it. His eyes were still shut, and the only sign of her surprise was the way her hand paused on his member. But then she kissed his bicep and murmured against his skin,

"If anyone could do such a thing, My Lord, it would be you."

"Good girl," he said in a slur, kissing the top of her head. "My good, good girl. Get on the bed."

He finally opened his eyes and watched as Bellatrix scurried onto her plush bed. She peeled back the down blanket and scooted aside, making way for her lord and master. It was all he could do to stumble drunk and naked to the bed and to climb beneath the blankets with her. He cradled himself behind her, spooning her against him. His mind was somewhere else, swimming far away, and yet wrapped up entirely in the feel of her. He moved her hair aside and kissed her neck and jaw far more gently than he usually did. Too worn out to figure a different way of making her naked, he put one hand on her knickers and the other on the back of her bra. He summoned his magic up from his core and did drunk what few others could have managed sober.

"Evanesco," he murmured, and his power wandlessly Vanished the silk undergarments. Bellatrix gasped softly, sounding almost insulted at the way he'd taken her expensive underwear and released it into non-being.

"I'll buy you more," he assured her, his lips going between her shoulder blades. Soft. She was so soft, her own skin feeling so much more like silk than her underwear had done. Beautiful. Powerful. His.

"My Lord," he heard her whisper furtively, "You were more than welcome at the party."

"I didn't want… mmm… I didn't want to go to any damned parties. It is your birthday, and you belong to me, and I shall celebrate with you privately."

He twisted her body just a bit and touched the tip of his cock between her legs. She wasn't as wet as she usually was when they were physical together. Suddenly Voldemort sensed it, rolling off of her in unmistakable waves: fear, uncertainty, and the slightest hint of discomfort. She was so unused to seeing him intoxicated, and she thought there was something off about the way he was acting. He pushed into her mind and felt her walls come crashing down. Yes… he could see and feel it now. She worried that something had happened to him to make him behave this gently, this strangely.

"The only thing that's happened to me is a bottle of firewhisky and a few hours alone," Voldemort insisted, turning Bellatrix to face him as forcefully as he could. She stared at him, her hair splayed across the pillow on which her head rested, and she said sincerely,

"It was all empty socialising without you there."

"Stop." Voldemort closed his eyes, willing the sound of her voice from his mind. But he wrapped one arm around her and cradled her close. He pushed his fingers between her legs and started to play with her. She mewled quietly and wrapped her left fingers around his arm desperately. "Stop," he said again, more insistently. She withdrew her hand, and Voldemort quickened his fingers as he repeated, more loudly each time, "Stop it, Bella. Stop, stop, stop."

"Stop what, My Lord?" Bellatrix gasped helplessly, squirming against his fingers. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but love in her wide, dark gaze. He wasn't entirely sure what he was asking her to stop doing. To stop being so damned pretty, perhaps? Or to stop making him want her so badly? Was he asking her to stop loving him, or to stop being his most necessary ally? What, exactly, did he want her to stop doing? He had no idea, but he knew that she was wet now. He pushed her thigh up and drove himself into her, pulling her body snugly against his and rocking in slow, shallow thrusts that ground them together. He grunted, because it was so very pleasant, but then he felt a prickle against his mind. He hadn't fully withdrawn from her consciousness, and she was pushing a thought forward firmly, so that he could perceive it. He snatched the thought and felt her mind calling to him,

I love you. I love you more than anyone has ever loved anybody else, or anything else. Please just tell me how to make you happy. All I want is to make you happy, My Lord.

"I know," he whispered, feeling his climax approaching much too soon for his liking. He stroked at Bellatrix's back and kissed her square on the mouth. Cake. She still tasted like cake, sweet and delicious. He finally pulled his lips away and said breathlessly, "Most of the time, you do… you do make me happy. Happier than anyone else manages to do."

That was the closest thing she'd ever get to an affirmation of his feelings toward her. He promised himself that, for even in his drunken state, he knew he'd sounded much too affectionate just then. He yanked Bellatrix against him and felt his ears go hot and ring, felt himself pumping his seed into her. He kissed her with hard, aggressive movements that sent teeth knocking and tongues fumbling. After his release began to subside, he let himself go soft inside of her but kept their bodies linked. He finally - finally - pulled away, just a few inches, as he felt himself losing the battle to sleep.

"Stay with me," he murmured, not sure whether he'd done it out loud or not. Bellatrix's voice was confused and shaking as she answered,

"Of course I will, My Lord. These are my rooms."

"I didn't… I didn't just mean tonight," he said, and if Bellatrix was confused, he wouldn't have known. His eyelids were heavy and fell shut, and then sleep washed over him like a burial shroud.

* * *

Voldemort paced in Bellatrix's sitting-room, waiting for her to wake. He himself had awakened with a splitting headache, but had successfully Summoned some Mundabo Mente Potion from Castle Lestrange's potions stores. His headache, nausea, and generally sour mood had mostly dissolved, and he was fully dressed again. Now he waited impatiently in her sitting room, deciding he would give her five more minutes before he'd go in and wake her up himself.

He'd made a fool of himself the night before. He'd sounded cloying and weak-minded. He'd said things in a way that would make Bellatrix think he cared deeply for her. He'd touched her too gently, and never in a way that asserted his authority. It had felt very nice, of course, but it had been unacceptable. Voldemort vowed never to take another sip of alcohol as long as he lived. It, like all other threats to his power, needed to be eliminated.

He looked up to Bellatrix's bedroom door as it creaked open. She emerged, looking freshly bathed with cosmetics neatly applied to her face. She wore a lightweight set of black robes, cinched at the waist with a cobalt blue velvet sash. Her dark curls were gathered into a low chignon, nestled beneath her right ear. She bowed her head as she shut her bedroom door and said,

"My Lord. May I fetch you any potions for a headache or -"

"I've taken care of it already," he interrupted, and Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort had realised upon waking that he'd never given her her birthday gift, so now he reached into his robes and pulled out a hair comb. He held it out to Bellatrix, who drew in breath and widened her eyes as she accepted it. This was no ordinary comb, and Bellatrix could tell that at once.

The comb itself was gold, but the decorations were of black pearls and onyx, resting in an elaborate pattern around a Dark Mark. The symbol of Voldemort's power had been crafted from gold, twisted and spun around itself until it formed the characteristic skull with a serpent pouring forth from its mouth. Bellatrix marveled at the hair comb as Voldemort said sternly,

"You're not to wear it in public. Not yet. Once any trace of resistance is gone - once Dumbledore is gone - you will wear it every day. For now, only at gatherings where our allies are the exclusive audience."

He watched her stick it carefully into the chignon of curls at her neck, and he nodded with satisfaction. It looked very good on her, he thought with as much distance as he could put between them. The pearls and the onyx and his Dark Mark… it looked good on her.

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix breathed. "Thank you."

"Happy birthday, then." Voldemort nodded matter-of-factly. He sniffed and straightened his robes, thinking that today he meant to create at least five more Inferi. He studied Bellatrix from head to toe and back again, meeting her eyes as he said, "I apologise for my… lack of discipline last night. It was uncharacteristic and will not be repeated."

"My Lord, you have nothing to apologise for," Bellatrix insisted. "You never have, and you never will."

He smirked and took her jaw in his hand, putting a careful kiss to her lips before he whispered, "And that… that loyalty, that obedience… that is why I like you best of all. I have to go. Goodbye, Bella."

"Goodbye, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded as he pulled away. He closed his eyes and spun hard to the right, and the last thing he saw before he Disapparated was the way she put her fingers to the comb in her hair.

* * *

**November 1976**

**Malfoy Manor**

"CRUCIO!" Bellatrix bellowed the curse with all her might, watching as her prisoner writhed and shrieked on the dank floor of the dungeon. Carden Fisher, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, had been captured by Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange after a skirmish in Hampshire.

Now Carden Fisher was on the ground in the dungeons, being tortured by Bellatrix whilst she waited for the Dark Lord to come and pull information from the witch's mind. Bellatrix disabled the Cruciatus Curse, knowing well when to stop before she pushed a mind into useless insanity. She gave Carden a moment to catch her breath, to drag herself a few centimetres across the cold stone floor. Carden turned her face to Bellatrix with some effort, and she muttered in a voice hoarse from screaming,

"Albus Dumbledore is ten times the wizard your demon idol could ever dream of being."

"Demon?" Bellatrix repeated. She laughed, a cackle that reverberated off the walls of the dungeon, and she stepped closer to Carden Fisher as she said, "Demon. Ah, yes. From Muggle mythology… little servants sent by the Big Baddie, isn't it? A Mudblood like you would call him such a thing. But let me tell you something, Miss Fisher."

Bellatrix circled around the still-twitching Carden Fisher, casually whipping her wand with a nonverbal Contusio that made the young witch buckle in pain. Bellatrix squatted down and looked Carden straight in her pale eyes, and she spoke with great confidence.

"If there was any word your filthy Muggle relatives would use for the Dark Lord, it would be to call him a 'god.' They would bow down to him, build temples in his name. Contusio!" Bellatrix watched as Carden's head was whipped to the side, watched the spatter of blood that flew from her mouth. She rose to stand and stared down as she continued, "Your filthy Muggle relatives would be in utter awe of the Dark Lord's power, Miss Fisher. Creator and destroyer of worlds, they would call him. Giving life, wielding death. Possessing and utilising power beyond their wildest imaginations. They would call him a 'god,' not a demon. But that word - 'god' - would be an insult, Miss Fisher. Contusio!"

Now Carden's arm fractured with a mighty crunch, and Bellatrix said in a voice just above a whisper,

"The word 'god' would insult my Dark Lord, even more than the word 'demon.' Because, Miss Fisher, the power of the Dark Lord so far exceeds any feeble creation of the Muggle imagination. Albus Dumbledore will see the wrath of the Dark Lord in its fullest. You won't live long enough to see more than a flash of green. And in that green light, you will see your demon."

"Speak of the Devil," lisped Carden Fisher bravely through the blood, pointing a shaking finger beyond Bellatrix, "and he shall appear."

Bellatrix whirled round to see Lord Voldemort standing on the bottom stair of the entrance to the dungeons. His face, still so handsome past the age of fifty, bore a smirk of utter satisfaction. He pulled his wand from his dark green robes in a fluid motion, and Bellatrix stepped aside for him, bowing her head.

"Beautiful words from my most able lieutenant," he noted, looking down at Carden Fisher. Bellatrix felt her cheeks colour from the little compliment. She hadn't known he was there, but she would have defended him just as fiercely regardless. Perhaps he knew that.

"Legilimens," he murmured, and Carden Fisher stared blankly up at him with her sea green eyes as he scanned her mind. It seemed to take forever, the silence heavy and wet in the dungeon as Bellatrix studied the flame of a torch on the wall to pass the time. After a while, Voldemort sniffed lightly, and Bellatrix heard him say quietly, "Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light bounced off the walls, the ceiling and floor, and was so bright that Bellatrix had to blink through it, even facing away. She turned back to see the lifeless heap that was Carden Fisher's body, and Voldemort met her eyes as he said,

"She doesn't know where Arthur Weasley is. Off with the rest of the Order somewhere. But the last she saw of Molly Weasley, the woman was with her newborn son - Percy - in a cottage in Somerset. The two elder children, William and Charles, are staying with their uncle Bilius Weasley. The drunkard uncle was last seen with the boys at a Chudley Cannons Quidditch Match."

Bellatrix nodded firmly. "Rodolphus and Rabastan will take them out one at a time, My Lord, if you wish it."

"Slowly. Carefully. Each loss needs to feel like a fresh wound, a new entry point for my sword of might. The Weasleys and the Prewetts are Blood Traitors, but they are hardly our biggest concerns. Just the same, let's give them a week or so to feel distraught over the loss of… this thing."

He kicked at Carden Fisher's lifeless body with his boot. Then he touched the tip of his wand to his forearm, his Dark Mark going black at once. Bellatrix felt no pain in her own arm, so she knew he must be summoning someone independently. In the meantime, Bellatrix studies Carden's form, the little pool of blood beneath her face that had been caused by Bellatrix's own Contusio.

"She spoke so ill of you; I couldn't stand for it," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort replied,

"I do not require your verbal defense, Bellatrix." Their eyes met, and he tipped his head as he added, "Just the same… I did enjoy it."

"My Lord!" came a voice from the top of the stairs, and then Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were dashing down into the dungeon to answer their master's call. They were breathless and pink-cheeked, and Bellatrix knew they'd hurried down here as soon as they'd been summoned. She and Rodolphus nodded at one another, knowing each had a job to do.

"I want Miss Fisher's body placed just outside the school gates at Hogwarts," Voldemort said simply. "Take her there at once, and cast the Dark Mark into the night sky above her body. Let all those in the village of Hogsmeade, and all those at Hogwarts see. Let Albus Dumbledore see."

"Yes, My Lord," Rabastan said briskly. He and Rodolphus levitated the corpse and began moving up the stairs. Voldemort called after them,

"When you leave her there, in the cold mud… leave her naked. Let them see what happens to members of their silly little Order."

"Of course, My Lord," Rodolphus simpered, and then he continued up the stairs with Rabastan. Bellatrix gazed at her master through the dim light of the lanterns. He was still staring up toward the main level, but finally he spoke without turning his eyes to Bellatrix.

"I have something I want to show you, Bella. Come with me."

He started toward the stairs and ascended quickly, so that Bellatrix had to practically trot to keep up with him. His movements through the main level of Malfoy Manor and up the double staircase were just as hurried, and Bellatrix struggled to keep up. When at last they reached his private suite of rooms, she was out of breath, and her skirts were heavy in her hands. Voldemort shut the door behind them, and there was a slight vibration as he warded it against any entry spells. Bellatrix wondered just what it was that he had to show her, and it was with some trepidation that she followed him into his sitting-room.

* * *

"You made the papers," Voldemort said crisply, tossing down four separate newspapers onto the low table before Bellatrix. She studied the headlines, one by one.

First, there were three Muggle newspapers - The Times, The Daily Mail, and The Daily Express. Bellatrix read the headlines one by one, and Voldemort watched her lips part as she did.

'MYSTERY MURDERS IN EXETER - TWO ENTIRE FAMILIES SLAIN IN SUBSEQUENT NIGHTS!'

'HORROR IN EXETER AS TEN PEOPLE ARE DISCOVERED DEAD IN THEIR HOMES'

'STRANGE LIGHT REPORTED SEEN IN THE SKY ABOVE EXETER MURDERS'

The last newspaper on the table was the Daily Prophet, and its headline read, 'HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED CONTINUED REIGN OF TERROR: MUGGLES MURDERED IN EXETER.'

Bellatrix brushed her thin fingers over the newspapers before raising her wide eyes to Voldemort. Her voice shook a bit as she asked,

"Have I made you happy, My Lord?"

"Oh, yes, Bella. Very happy," he replied. And he was quite happy with her just now. She'd spoken of him like no one ever had whilst she tortured Carden Fisher. She'd been careful, meticulous even, in executing two full Muggle families with Mudblood relations. There was no Death Eater working harder to promote Voldemort's cause than Bellatrix Lestrange.

"You are loyal beyond measure," Voldemort noted, and Bellatrix nodded as she opened her mouth to affirm the sentiment. He spoke before she could. "You prove it every single day, Bella. You prove your strength, your determination, your intelligence, and your loyalty. Tonight, I need you to prove it more definitively than you have ever done."

Bellatrix looked a bit frightened, and Voldemort could hardly blame her. But he wasn't going to ask her to do anything more dangerous or difficult than he usually did. He was merely going to ask her to endure a painful truth. He sat in the chair opposite her and narrowed his eyes.

"You can not give Rodolphus Lestrange a pureblood child right now, because your skills are needed in battle."

Bellatrix nodded, looking a bit confused and trepidatious, and her fingers curled around the arms of the chair. Voldemort kept his face stony, and he said,

"We have lost more Death Eaters in the past two years than there were pureblood children born. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix's eyes flashed and her gaze twitched as she seemed to be desperately trying to assemble the mental puzzle. She shrugged helplessly and said, "The pureblood population needs quick replacement and augmentation…"

"Yes." Voldemort nodded firmly. "And that's why both Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange - among other pureblood wizards - have been asked to put pureblood children into pureblood witches." He studied her face and asked again, "Do you understand?"

Bellatrix gulped, and her eyes welled as the realisation that her husband was breeding new purebloods came over her face. "How many?"

"Several," Voldemort said simply.

"With whom?" Bellatrix asked, but Voldemort snarled,

"That is not your concern. All you need to know is that you are Rodolphus' wife in name only. Your only duty is to me. His only duty is to me, and just now that includes replenishing the pureblood population."

Bellatrix shut her eyes, and a silent tear fell down her right cheek as she nodded. Her voice was a broken whisper. "I understand, My Lord."

Voldemort frowned. "For Merlin's Sake, Bellatrix," he hissed, "Why are you crying about this? You haven't even slept with him in -"

"A week," Bellatrix nodded. She wiped the lone tear from her cheek and opened her eyes, looking straight at Voldemort as she said, "He wanted us to be closer as man and wife, even with contraception."

Voldemort felt an odd twinge of something foreign come over him. There was the possessive greed he knew well, but there was something else. He pointed his wand at Bellatrix and murmured, "Let me fully in, Bella. Legilimens."

He wasn't quite sure why he forced himself to watch the memory in its entirety. Perhaps he meant to humiliate her, or perhaps he harbored some sort of morbid curiosity about what Bellatrix was like with another man.

He found no satisfaction at all in seeing the way Rodolphus and Bellatrix had clinically stripped their clothes, the way it had taken him twenty minutes to get her anywhere close to ready for him, the way she feigned her moans and whimpers and utterly faked a climax. Voldemort found no pleasure in hearing Rodolphus' sickening grunts as she moved atop Bellatrix, as she shut her eyes and thought of him, of the Dark Lord himself. Finally, it was over in Bellatrix's mind, and Rodolphus was kissing her forehead and mumbling something about how honoured he was to be her husband, and then he was gone.

Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's head and saw her sitting in the chair opposite him, her face buried in her hands as her back shook a bit. Voldemort suddenly found himself quite angry with Rodolphus Lestrange, and not for the first time. Rodolphus had been given new graduates of Hogwarts - young, lithe little things that simpered and preened and spread their legs to receive pureblood seed. He'd been given pureblood war widows to keep him company in his bed. He and his brother, Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy, Leonard Macnair and Tudor Yaxley. They'd all been given pretty little things to satisfy them. It was a doubly advantageous move for the Dark Lord, because he not only rewarded his male soldiers for their service, but had established a system of increasing the number of purebloods. A pureblood bastard was better than no pureblood at all.

Somehow, it angered Voldemort beyond comprehension that Rodolphus would be given all those witches and still dare take Bellatrix's body for his own. Lucius Malfoy was probably still sleeping with the apparently-barren Narcissa through all this, but that did not bother Voldemort in the least. Tudor Yaxley had a lovely young wife that was already pregnant, but his night passed with other witches did not stir the Dark Lord's sentiments. He cared nothing about any of their infidelity; he cared nothing for anyone's hurt feelings. But somehow, the idea that Rodolphus Lestrange had claimed Bellatrix in the middle of all this…

"Why?" Voldemort heard himself barking, and Bellatrix moaned into her hands,

"Why what… My Lord?"

"Why did you give yourself to him like that?" Voldemort sneered, and Bellatrix raised her wet eyes. She shook her head and shrugged with disbelief.

"My Lord, he is my husband," she reminded him, and he sprang to his feet. He hovered over her chair and said sharply,

"Stand up." When she hesitated a moment, he snatched her bicep and yanked her toward him. "Stand up, Bellatrix!"

She gasped in pain, and his hand flew away from her arm. He hadn't meant to hurt her. Not this time. But his grasp was still firm as he held her jaw and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her with all that he had. He dragged his tongue around the roof of her mouth, sucked on her lip, and pulled her against him by the small of her back. He remembered the first time he'd touched her here, when they'd danced at the Christmas Party all those years ago. He'd danced with her that night for a very specific reason, to send a very specific message. Somehow, he knew, he'd need to publicly send that same message again.

"You are mine," he whispered against her lips, and though she nodded, it wasn't enough. He snatched at her left hand and dragged her wedding rings from her finger. He took a half step back from her, held the wedding band and engagement ring in the palm of his hand, and he met Bellatrix's eyes again. He studied them, absorbing the heavy darkness in her gaze, and he said to her, "Vanish them."

Bellatrix looked surprised for a half second, her eyes going wider than usual, but she obeyed him as she always did. She pulled her wand out and pointed it at Voldemort's hands. Her wand trembled. It never trembled when she cast curses to torture or to kill, but it trembled now. Her voice was hoarse and unsure as she said,

"Evanesco."

Then the rings were gone, taken from Voldemort's hand into the great void of non-being. He took his now-empty hand and wrapped it around the one that gripped her wand. He dragged his thumb over the emerald on the ring he'd given her, and he said in a violent, quiet hiss,

"Sleep with him all you like, Bella. You're still mine. You still belong to me. Don't you?"

She nodded, but it wasn't enough. He yanked her close again, wrenching their arms down and squeezing his fingers against her lower back. He kissed her neck, then her cheek, then her lips, and he heard her mumble,

"I've only ever wanted you."

"I know." He nodded and kissed her more deeply, thinking that right now a strong and unequivocal message needed to be sent to Rodolphus Lestrange. He'd pull Rodolphus out of the little breeding programme; he'd forbid any of the pureblood girls to cavort with him. And he would personally forbid Rodolphus from laying a hand on Bellatrix. His Bellatrix.

"Go home to Castle Lestrange," he said rather breathlessly, pulling his mouth away. His eyes bored into hers, and he brushed a thumb under her eye as he said one more time, "Mine."

"Yours, My Lord," she nodded. He granted her one more fleeting kiss and then pushed her gently toward the doorway. He watched her go, watched the way she put her shoulders back and her chin up just before she stepped into the corridor. Then he sank into a chair, feeling more tired than he had in a great long while for reasons beyond his reckoning.

* * *

**November 1976**

**Castle Lestrange**

"May I fetch you anything else, Madam Lestrange?" Mawky, the wizened old house-elf, knitted her bumpy fingers together nervously, and Bellatrix shook her head simply. She waved her hand to dismiss the house-elf, who took her place in the corner whilst Bellatrix and Rodolphus ate their meal.

Bellatrix drank deeply from her red wine, and she looked across the table to Rodolphus. She considered her words quite carefully before saying,

"I was informed recently - by the Dark Lord himself - about a scheme to produce as many pureblood children as possible, regardless of the marital status of the parents involved."

Rodolphus' hands froze. He set down the bite of beef he'd been about to put into his mouth, and he looked down the table's length to where Bellatrix sat. His eyes moved between expressions - confused, then almost sad, then defensive.

"Bellatrix," he said softly, "Whatever pureblood babies start crawling a year from now because of me… It was not my idea. I was only following orders."

"Yes. Of course." Bellatrix nodded and drank from her wine again before she said, "Following orders. I'm sure you did a wonderful job of it, as well."

Rodolphus pinched his lips. Then his eyes moved to Bellatrix's left hand, which held her steak knife, and he asked cautiously, "What's happened to your wedding rings?"

Bellatrix turned her left hand around, the knife glinting as she studied her bare fingers. She smirked a little at Rodolphus and said in a light, airy tone. "My rings? Oh. I was just following orders."

Rodolphus' hands held fast to the edge of the table, and he asked in a voice laced with fear, "Are we still married, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix scoffed, nearly choking on her wine as she laughed. She set the chalice down and nodded reassuringly. "Oh, yes, Dolph. We're still married," she said, and she watched Rodolphus' throat bob. Bellatrix moved in for the metaphorical kill then, and she added, "Of course, you're not to put a child in me until after the war. The Dark Lord needs me as his soldier. I'm sure you'll be able to plant your seed elsewhere, since you play such an important role in the repopulation scheme."

Rodolphus cleared his throat a bit roughly, and Bellatrix watched his cheekbones go pink. He spoke carefully then as he said, "As it happens, I received an owl this morning from the Dark Lord. I will no longer be… I have fulfilled my duty to the repopulation programme."

Bellatrix did everything she could to keep from laughing aloud. The Dark Lord had sacked Rodolphus from fucking pretty girls, from putting his pureblood seed into them. And, yet, poor Rodolphus couldn't touch Bellatrix, either. She sighed heavily and glanced for one pointed second at the ring on her right hand.

"I'm sorry to hear you won't be participating further," she said lightly, meeting Rodolphus' eyes again. "I'm sure you enjoyed it. But nothing lasts forever, eh?"

"Some things do," Rodolphus nodded, frowning as he dutifully turned his attentions back to the beef on his plate. Bellatrix ate the rest of her meal in complete silence before excusing herself and heading up to her individual suite of rooms.

* * *

**December 1976**

**Malfoy Manor**

Another Christmas season brought another tiresome Christmas gathering. Voldemort looked around the crowded ballroom of Malfoy Manor and realised how many more were here than had been all those years ago. The war raged mightily around them, but he held more power and adherents now than ever before. That thought was rather a happy one, so Voldemort wore a little smirk on his face as Abraxas Malfoy stepped up to him. Abraxas bowed deeply, and Voldemort took a long sip from his mug of wassail before saying,

"You've outdone yourself in hosting this, Abraxas. I'm grateful, as always."

"My Lord, it is I who is the grateful one," Abraxas asserted. His face, just starting to wrinkle with age, broke into a satisfied smile as he tipped his chin up. "Two of them are with child - the ones you sent me. Helen Flint and Olvidia Travers. Such pretty little things they were; I suspect they'll both bear beautiful babies."

"I care nothing for the appearances of the children that emerge from this programme," Voldemort said smoothly. "I care only that they are functional and contributing members of the pureblood community. Just the same, I'm glad to hear they both conceived quickly. You used the Gravidaserum with them both to help?"

"I did, My Lord," Abraxas nodded. He sipped of his own wine and laughed softly before he said, "I dare say there has never before been a political programme to make grey-haired men so very happy."

"Again, Abraxas… that is a small and inconsequential side effect of the means to reach an important goal." Voldemort kept the bite in his tone. He didn't want his wizard followers thinking he'd instituted a programme for them to shag child-bearing witches so that they could feel pleasure. No. There was duty in this, and that was all. But, of course, Voldemort knew well that the carnal satisfaction the male participants experienced made them more loyal to him, more apt to fight with vicious bravery in the field.

"I'm very glad the party is to your liking, My Lord," Abraxas said, bowing and excusing himself from Voldemort's presence. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy walked by, dipping their heads to acknowledge the Dark Lord as they did. Voldemort scanned the room and saw Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange speaking with Walden Macnair. But he did not see Bellatrix. He looked for her, and he reached out to feel for her presence, but she wasn't here. Curious and slightly concerned for some reason, Voldemort strode quickly across the room toward Rodolphus. The revelers parted like a sea for him, dipping and murmuring My Lord as though he were a regent. Well, he was one these days, he thought.

"Lestrange," he barked, and both Rabastan and Rodolphus turned quickly to face him. Voldemort locked eyes with Rodolphus and tipped his head. "Where's Bellatrix?"

Rodolphus opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment, and then managed to croak out, "She said to tell you, My Lord… but only if you asked after her… she said…"

"What?" Voldemort hissed. "What did she say?"

"She said to b-beg your forgiveness for her absence, but she is still feeling quite unwell, My Lord."

"Unwell from what?" Voldemort snapped. Rabastan Lestrange spoke in a more clear, confident tone than his brother then.

"My Lord, very early this morning we were battling members of the Order of the Phoenix in Cornwall. Bellatrix was chasing down Ruth McKinnon. She blocked countless hexes; only a few injurious ones got through. But Ruth McKinnon suddenly hit Bellatrix with a Cruciatus Curse." Rodolphus' face twisted as he seemed to remember of the sight of Bellatrix under the Cruciatus. He mumbled shamefully, "I was duelling and couldn't... It didn't last long; perhaps only ten or fifteen seconds, and then McKinnon Stunned her. Once Bellatrix came to rights, she managed to hunt McKinnon down again and kill her. But then she nearly fainted…"

"After-effects of the Cruciatus, and exhaustion from casting the Killing Curse in such a state," Voldemort acknowledged, giving no outward indication of the terrible twist in his abdomen. Rabastan and Rodolphus both nodded, and Bellatrix's husband said in a shaking voice,

"She told us to beg your pardon for her absence tonight, My Lord, and she Disapparated. She was not at Castle Lestrange when I returned there to ready myself for the party. She did say, right before she left Cornwall, that… that you would know where she was going."

Voldemort's mind reeled. Bellatrix had gone to Capella Cottage, then. She had been tortured and had nearly exhausted herself in battle, and she'd gone to their refuge. She would have only done such a thing if she felt an immediate need to heal in solitude. Voldemort nodded crisply to Rodolphus and Rabastan and instructed them,

"Do not worry about her; I shall take care of it."

"Of course, My Lord," Rodolphus said deferentially.

Voldemort looked around the ballroom again. He'd already been at this little fete for over two hours, and he'd at least briefly spoken with nearly everyone here. He walked back to Abraxas Malfoy, who was talking with Lucius and Narcissa, and he cut into their conversation without apology.

"Abraxas, I've an urgent matter to attend to. I must leave at once. Continue the party."

"My Lord, can I be of assistance in any way?" young Lucius Malfoy asked, and Voldemort smirked at the young man's enthusiasm. He shook his head and said in a light voice,

"No, Lucius. Thank you just the same."

His little wife Narcissa looked anxious, and Voldemort knew why. He turned and matched eyes with Narcissa, palpable fear and intimidation rolling off the girl. Voldemort sighed and said matter-of-factly to Narcissa,

"She's fine. I'm going to make certain of that right now."

Narcissa nodded, looking grateful, and murmured her thanks to the Dark Lord. Lucius and Abraxas looked confused, but Voldemort felt no need to explain anything further to them. He turned to go, striding out of the ballroom and leaving all the music and revelry behind.

* * *

**December 1976**

**Capella Cottage, Scotland**

It wasn't actually the Cruciatus Curse that had injured Bellatrix's body so badly. She'd blocked nearly all of Ruth McKinnon's jinxes and hexes, most of them cast over the other witch's shoulder as she desperately tried to avoid the Killing Curse she knew Bellatrix had armed and ready. One spell, the Nonspirandi Hex, had hit Bellatrix straight in the chest and had robbed her of her breath for far too long. She had kept running, unable to breathe, determined to catch Ruth McKinnon, until she stumbled and fell to the ground on the rocky beach. She had released the hex from her own body just as McKinnon had thrown a Cruciatus Curse at her. That one Bellatrix had blocked, but it was immediately followed by a Labori Maxima, a complicated spell that made every movement and task an almost insurmountable effort for the victim. Then another Cruciatus Curse had come, and Bellatrix had been unable to stop that one.

The pain had been unlike anything Bellatrix had imagined. She felt no regret over how many people she'd used this curse on, and, if anything, it was good to truly understand its power. It was only a few seconds, but Bellatrix's very veins screamed in pain and her muscles shrieked in terror. Her mind felt on the verge of explosion, and the all the weight was lifted. Bellatrix was thrust into oblivion, into dark cold nothingness. She'd been Stunned. She'd only realised that when she had come to, her mind buzzing and her limbs heavy. She managed to stumble around the wooded seaside area, and once she'd found Ruth McKinnon, she'd killed the witch and had cast the Dark Mark into the sky above. Dawn was coming, but the glimmering green Mark still contrasted against the purple sky.

Bellatrix had fallen to her knees for a few moments, exhausted and still feeling little twitches of pain inside her. Rodolphus and Rabastan had come running breathlessly to her, and she'd explained that she needed to go, that the Dark Lord would know where she was, and not to mention anything unless he asked. When she'd Disapparated to Capella Cottage, Bellatrix had genuinely feared she might Splinch herself. She was so tired that simply walking through the front door of the cottage was almost impossible. Climbing the stairs up to the bed in the loft had been almost impossible. Summoning the bottles of Vitamix Potion and Invigoration Draught had actually proved impossible; Bellatrix had feebly set her wand on the table beside the bed and had given up, thinking that the potions wouldn't do anything a few hours' sleep wouldn't.

But she'd fallen asleep in the early morning, and it was sixteen hours later (according to the clock on the bedroom wall) when her eyes opened again. Bellatrix sat up in the bed, rubbing at her eyes and blinking slowly as she marveled at how long she'd been asleep. She stumbled into the cramped lavatory in the loft and cast Cleansing Spells on her clothes, hair, and skin. She cleaned her teeth and felt her stomach rumble with insistent hunger. Everything was backward now; it was as though she were waking up for the day, though she knew it was late at night.

They were all celebrating Christmas, she thought as she descended the staircase and made her way to the kitchen. She mixed some dehydrated soup mix with some hot water and sat at the wooden table in the whitewashed dining room. She spooned the simple soup into her mouth and sipped at water as she wondered about the party. Was anyone angry with her for not going? Did anyone even care that she wasn't there?

Before she could ponder that any further, the door of the cottage opened and he walked in. Him. The Dark Lord, looking more handsome than ever in a heavy black robe over a tuxedo vest and white bow tie. Bellatrix pulled herself up to the stand at the sight of him, knowing she needed to show him respect, but he gestured for her to sit as he shut the front door and came walking into the little dining room. He sat opposite her at the table and shucked his heavy outer robe. Bellatrix asked,

"May I make you anything to eat, My Lord?"

"I ate at the party," he said simply, shaking his head. He stared at her for a long moment then, and Bellatrix felt a twinge of fear in her belly.

"Have I angered you by coming here?" she asked, and he shook his head again. Finally, he licked his lips and said in a measured tone,

"It sounds as though you had quite the battle early this morning."

Bellatrix nodded. She swallowed heavily and said, "I do not mind that I took the hexes and curses, My Lord. I only regret it took me so long to finally finish Ruth McKinnon off."

"But you did," he noted. "You did kill her, and you cast the Dark Mark, even after that battle. And you managed to Disapparate here. You are very strong. The strongest one I've got."

It was the best compliment he'd ever paid her, and Bellatrix struggled to contain her tearful smile. She choked out a little laugh and admitted,

"I tried to Summon some potions, but I could. I slept for sixteen hours."

Voldemort shrugged and said lightly, "There are times in our lives when we earn sixteen hours of sleep. Today qualified for you. Are you feeling better now?"

Bellatrix nodded vigorously and glanced down at her rough-hewn working robes. They weren't suitable for anything social, but she had a formal gown in the wardrobe upstairs. She looked back up at the Dark Lord and asked him, "Shall I change my clothes and make an appearance at Malfoy Manor, My Lord?"

"No," he said in a bored tone, looking beyond her to the small fireplace. "You weren't missing anything exciting. I reassured Narcissa that I was going to ensure your safety; she was worried after you."

"She always worries after me," Bellatrix complained, sighing. Cissy was the baby sister; she shouldn't always be fussing over Bellatrix.

"She worries because the work you do is dangerous, and you have no fear of death," Voldemort said very plainly. Bellatrix felt her lips part a bit at that, and she had no idea what to say. Thankfully, the Dark Lord continued talking, though the question he asked made Bellatrix's stomach go cold. "When was the last time your husband took your body for his own?"

Bellatrix struggled to find the words in her sore head, but she finally answered, "Not since November, My Lord. You forbade him, and he… he's obeyed you. We both have. We always will."

Voldemort nodded firmly. He'd not taken Bellatrix in a great long while, either, and her body wanted him just now more fiercely than usual. He seemed to know this, and he continued staring at the fireplace as he said gently,

"Go upstairs. Take off your clothes and wait for me in the bed."

Bellatrix left her half-eaten bowl of soup sitting on the table, not caring one bit about that just now as she scrambled up the stairs to obey her master. Her hands shook as she stripped off her tunic, her skirt and the leggings beneath, and the plain black bra and knickers she wore. She tried to make a neat little pile of the clothes, gave up, and slithered quickly underneath the duvet. Then she waited, like he'd told her to do. Finally she heard his steps slowly ascending the wooden stairs, and then he was bending as made his way past the loft's sloped ceiling. His fingers worked quickly to take off his tie, his waistcoat, and his shirt. Bellatrix watched in awe, getting more excited with every inch of his skin that was revealed to her. He stood beside the bed and toyed with the buttons of his trousers as he mused,

"I had thought about taking you roughly against the wall. Or, perhaps making you worship me with your mouth. I had thought about punishing you with spankings and hair-pulling, and then I realised there was nothing to punish. You were brave and able this morning, Bella, and I have no desire to exhaust you further. So… choose your reward."

Bellatrix was very confused. She blinked up at him and asked in a little squeak, "M-my reward?"

He tipped his head and looked down at her as though she were rather stupid. "Shall I suggest one?"

Bellatrix said nothing, her eyes flicking from the bulge in his trousers to his face as she tried to figure what exactly he meant. This felt very different than anything between them had. Voldemort huffed a sigh of impatience and unbuttoned his trousers, yanking them and his underwear down as he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks. He wordlessly climbed beneath the duvet with Bellatrix, hovering above her and pushing her legs apart. He guided himself into her smoothly; she'd been ready for him ever since he'd walked in the door. He smirked at how wet she already was, how easily his cock slid in and out of her as he rocked back and forth above her. Bellatrix arched her back up at the feel of him inside her, and he dipped his head to kiss and nibble at one breast.

"Oh… My Lord…" Bellatrix whispered, unable to say anything else. She felt his hot breath on her chest as he murmured,

"Choose your reward, Bellatrix."

"I don't know my options!" she cried helplessly, unable to think clearly through the way he steadily filled her, pulled away, and filled her again. He laughed, a low and diabolical chuckle, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows as he stilled his hips.

"Shall I… use my mouth on you the way you do to me?" he asked in a playful tone, swiveling his hips once to taunt her. Bellatrix gasped, both at the physical sensation and at the suggestion he'd made. She wasn't sure if she would be able to handle that, the Dark Lord having his face between her legs. Before she could speak, he continued,

"Shall I… give you ten thousand Galleons as a monetary reward for your bravery in battle?"

Bellatrix frowned, and Voldemort laughed with real mirth then. He shook his head and said, "No. Money isn't what you want from me, is it? I know what you want. I know the reward that will satisfy you above all others."

He pumped his hips again, tortuously slowly at first and then faster and more urgently. Bellatrix's arms wrapped around him as she moaned and got dizzy all over again. She held onto his back and buried her face into the crook of his neck as her body succumbed and she clenched around him. His pistoning hips quickened and then, with one last mighty buck of his hips, he groaned and spilled himself inside her.

As Bellatrix panted her way to recovery, she felt his lips beside his ear and felt his breath as he whispered,

"Shall I tell you a secret… something no one else would ever hear me say? Shall I tell you something no one else is worthy of hearing?"

Bellatrix nodded, wondering how it was she was still conscious, and tried to speak. She couldn't, because he spent a long moment kissing her neck before putting his lips beside her ear again.

"Fine, then. I'll tell you. When all the world is mine at last, I will have you for my own in every sense of the word. Do you understand what I mean?"

Bellatrix was silent and still, her breath frozen in her chest as she processed his words. She did understand. He would either kill Rodolphus or somehow dissolve their marriage, and he would seize Bellatrix as his… what, as his wife? That couldn't be right…

"And I shall tell you one more thing I probably shouldn't," Voldemort murmured, pushing himself back onto his elbows and staring down at her with a gaze so intense that Bellatrix had trouble meeting it. His voice was steady and sure as he told her, "No other woman has touched me since that Christmas party eight years ago. I would never let any of them close enough, and I wouldn't enjoy their touch, anyway. But you… you, Bella. I enjoy you far more than I should."

He leaned down and kissed her, a deep but gentle kiss of dancing tongues and quiet moans. When at last he pulled away, he stroked her curly hair and said again,

"I enjoy you far more than I should, Bella, but some things can't be helped."

He finally pulled his body away from hers and made his way out of the bed, ambling toward the tiny lavatory to clean himself up.

"M-My Lord…" Bellatrix began, sitting up in the bed, "Shall I go home to Castle Lestrange now?"

"No," he said firmly from the lavatory, where the door was half shut. His voice reverberated off the tile walls in there as he told her, "You'll stay here with me tonight. You slept for sixteen hours because your body was exhausted and broken from battle. You still need some medicinal potions, and I want you to get a few more hours' sleep tonight. A small dose of diluted Sleeping Draught will do it. I want you completely healed and strong again as soon as possible. There's a war on, you know."

* * *

**February 1977**

**Malfoy Manor**

"Right, then," Lord Voldemort began, gazing around the enormous dining table at those he'd assembled. These were his closest allies, his most able and trusted Death Eaters. These meetings, called with increasing regularity, were intended to keep everyone apprised of progress on the many fronts of their war. Voldemort gestured to his left and said lightly, "We'll go round the table, then. Simple as that. Give me your updates. Abraxas, begin."

Abraxas Malfoy nodded and said to the others, "I am happy to announce that in the last twelve months, there have been sixteen pureblood babies born. Another twelve are currently expected. This will help significantly to bolster the pureblood population, particularly as we continue eradicating the dirty parts of the wizarding world."

"Very good news," Voldemort nodded. "Next?"

The next few Death Eaters gave mundane updates from the Ministry. A new law had been passed requiring registration to utilise the Floo Network. Mudblood deaths were not officially being recorded as homicides. Another member of the Wizengamot had retired under the Imperius Curse and his place had been taken by a Death Eater.

"Rabastan Lestrange," Voldemort acknowledged then, nodding at the dark-haired wizard. Rabastan cleared his throat and said reluctantly,

"Unfortunately, My Lord, we are still having great difficulty tracking members of the Order of the Phoenix. My brother Rodolphus and I believe they are using Fidelius Charms to hide in secluded locations. We don't… I'm afraid we still have not compiled a complete and comprehensive list of members."

Voldemort scanned his eyes around the table and spoke to everyone in a low hiss. "I want to know everything about this silly Order of the Phoenix. Every member's name, home, family, skills and weaknesses. It is all your duty to get me this information. Am I understood?"

"Yes, My Lord," mumbled everyone around the table. Walden Macnair informed the group that he and his associates had killed twenty Muggles in the last two weeks alone. Voldemort already knew this; he'd turned the dead Muggles into Inferi. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stated that they had persuaded their friend Edith Bulstrode to enter into fully loyal service of the Dark Lord.

"She wishes to become a Death Eater herself, My Lord," Lucius said proudly. Voldemort smirked a bit to himself. Poor Narcissa, he thought rather sarcastically. Or perhaps she did know that the baby Edith Bulstrode had birthed last November had been sown in her by Lucius himself. If she was bitter or angry, Narcissa gave no indication of it. Voldemort nodded and turned his head to Cygnus Black III.

"My Lord, I regret to report that my nephew, Sirius Black, is now a known member of the Order of the Phoenix. He is not only disowned by the family, but is now our mortal enemy."

A low murmur of disapproval went around the table, but Voldemort held up his hand for silence. Cygnus continued,

"I do, however, have a list of sixth- and seventh-year students at Hogwarts who met with my other nephew, Regulus Black, and expressed sincere interest in joining our cause full-time upon their graduation."

"Good." Voldemort nodded to Cygnus and looked beside him, where Bellatrix sat looking drawn and tired. Voldemort wasn't surprised; she'd been fighting harder than any of the rest of them. When she spoke, she sounded as though she hadn't slept in days.

"My Lord, you already know this, but…" She turned and glanced around the table, tipping her chin up with a bit of pride as she said, "I was confronted the day before yesterday when I was in Godric's Hollow following a lead. Seven Aurors appeared, coming from houses and alleys and Apparating into the street where I was. It was an ambush."

The table went hush with wonder, and Narcissa Malfoy's eyes were wide as saucers as she listened to her sister speak. Bellatrix continued,

"I was wounded, but have since recovered. All seven Aurors were… I killed them all, My Lord, and cast the Dark Mark into the sky above Godric's Hollow."

Voldemort let a real little smile cross his lips then. "Seven Aurors. All on your own," he noted, and Bellatrix nodded. The others around the table wore expressions ranging from disbelief to fear to jealousy. Voldemort held his right hand out into the air beside him and said, "Come here, Bella."

Bellatrix rose from her chair and walked to the head of the table. She took his hand, and Voldemort looked at her as he addressed the entire table.

"There can be no hesitation, my friends, if we are to win. Bellatrix has never hesitated. Not with a well-timed Cruciatus. Not with the Killing Curse. Not in casting the Dark Mark into the sky. She has never hesitated in battle." He lowered his voice a bit to make it clear he was speaking to her then, and he watched her face as she stared down at him lovingly. "You are my bravest soldier, Bellatrix. A model for everyone here. Your courage and tenacity will not go unrewarded. Go sit by your father."

She did, releasing his hand and looking like she was floating as she happily sat beside Cygnus Black III. He seemed very proud of his daughter, and he rubbed her briskly between her shoulder blades to show his approval.

"If there's nothing else… I'm sure we all have better things to do with our time than to sit around a table chatting. Dismissed," Voldemort said sharply. Without another word, he rose from his chair and walked from the room, making his way to his office and leaving everyone else behind.

An hour later, there was a little knock on his door, and Voldemort glanced up from paperwork, frowning. It wasn't Bellatrix's knock, nor Abraxas'. He knew those knocks by heart now.

"Enter," he said sharply, and the door slowly opened to reveal Narcissa Malfoy and a short, pretty witch that Voldemort knew to be Edith Bulstrode. She carried a mewling little bundle in her arms - a baby. Voldemort folded his hands on his desk as both witches curtsied deeply. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Narcissa Malfoy said,

"My Lord, I was wondering if I might introduce you personally to my dear friend -"

"Edith Bulstrode," Voldemort nodded. Edith smiled shyly and aimed her baby's face toward Voldemort.

"His name is Frederick, sir. Erm… My Lord," she quickly corrected herself. Edith was the attractive but rather dim-witted daughter of a noble pureblood line. She was not a Death Eater, and though Voldemort had been told she aspired to be one, he did not sense the smarts in her. The Dark Mark was reserved for those with quick wits and absolute fealty.

"He is an asset to the cause," Voldemort said, nodding to the lumpy infant in the girl's arms. He spoke to Edith directly as he said, "Your service in the repopulation programme is appreciated. Did the two of you need something specific?"

Narcissa and Edith looked at one another for a second, and Narcissa's mouth fell open as she tried to find the word. Both of them were too frightened to ask him directly to make Edith a Death Eater. Voldemort huffed a frustrated little sigh, and then, mercifully, there were three firm knocks on the closed door. That was her. He knew that knock.

"Enter," he said again, this time more smoothly and with less bite than he'd done before. The door flew open and Bellatrix came dashing into the office, a wide smile on her face, but she froze when she saw that Edith Bulstrode and Narcissa were standing in front of Voldemort's desk. The sisters' eyes met, and Bellatrix frowned as she said,

"Pardon me, My Lord; I did not intent on interrupting anything."

"You're not," Voldemort said, looking back to Narcissa and Edith, "unless there was something quite specific the two of you needed?"

Narcissa's pale cheeks went scarlet, and she shook her head. "No, My Lord. I simply wanted to introduce Miss Bulstrode to you directly, since she is such a great admirer of yours."

"It was delightful to meet you, My Lord," Edith simpered, and Bellatrix's scowl deepened behind her. Edith and Narcissa curtsied again, and Edith bounced her baby boy in her arms as she followed Narcissa out of the office. Once the door was closed and Voldemort was alone with Bellatrix, he gestured to the chairs before his fireplace and said quietly,

"Sit."

She did, but the strange look on her face still knitted her features. Voldemort pressed into her mind as he made his way over to the chairs. She had mental barriers up by default now, but he demolished them as though they were made of straw. He could see the way she'd felt when she'd come bursting into the office. Surprised, suspicious, jealous. That baby in Edith Bulstrode's arms - was its father Rodolphus? Worse yet, was that the child of the Dark Lord that Bellatrix had not been able to bear?

Voldemort crossed his arms over his robes and loomed above Bellatrix's chair as he said sharply, "Not that it is any business of yours, but that child's father is Lucius Malfoy."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and before she could speak, Voldemort interjected,

"Your sister's doing a rather terrible job of giving Lucius a child herself. She's taking fertility potions regularly now, so hopefully something will happen soon on that front. Edith Bulstrode was assigned to Lucius Malfoy in the repopulation programme. And, not that it is any business of yours, but I had never spoken personally with Edith Bulstrode before that meeting."

He watched relief cross Bellatrix's face, and he narrowed his eyes. "You are not permitted to feel any possession of me. You belong to me, not the other way round. Is that perfectly clear, Madam Lestrange?"

Those last two words had cut her to her core, and Bellatrix shut her eyes as she nodded. Voldemort sniffed, not wanting to draw either of them into an overly emotional exchange tonight. He drummed his fingers on his arm and said,

"I meant what I said earlier. You have been consistently demonstrating ruthless bravery in battle that is unmatched. I am… I am proud of you."

Bellatrix suddenly stared up at him, wide-eyed and cautiously smiling, as she murmured, "All I've ever wanted, My Lord, is to make you happy. To make you proud. To serve you."

"And you do. You do serve me. You do it well, better than any of the rest of them. That's why you've earned yourself a holiday."

Bellatrix's dark brows furrowed, and she tangled her fingers anxiously in her lap. "You're sending me away?"

Voldemort snorted out a little laugh and shook his head. "Bella, only you would see the granting of a holiday as exile. No, I am not sending you away. You need to take a brief respite; you're overdoing it day after day."

"I am not tired, My Lord!" Bellatrix maintained, flying up from the chair and standing before him. "I will take all the Invigoration Draught I must, all the Nonsomnus Elixir in the world. I will -"

"Bella," Voldemort interrupted in a whisper, taking her hands in his and dragging his thumbs over her wrists. It was as though she couldn't hear him, and her voice raced along with her heart as she kept on insisting,

"I will not stop until I help you get everything you want. Until they're all dead. All your enemies; I'll kill them all myself and I'll be glad to do it and -"

"Bella," Voldemort whispered again, leaning down until his forehead touched hers. Her voice descended into a quiet but urgent tone as she shut her eyes and pleaded with him,

"I beg you, My Lord, not to take me out of service. I don't want a holiday. I want to fight. I need to fight; I need to serve you night and day, and sleep doesn't matter and food doesn't matter, and -"

"Bella." His voice was quiet firm now, and he cut her off with a solid kiss that drew a little squeal from her. When he stood up again, she was panting but silent. Voldemort tipped his head to the side just a bit and studied her beauty. Somehow, she seemed to grow prettier all the time.

"This is not your decision to make," he informed her. "You are exhausted. You're no good to me exhausted."

Bellatrix looked wounded and started to say, "But, My Lord -"

"It is not open for debate, Bellatrix," Voldemort snapped, dropping her hands rather roughly and seizing her face in his hands. "If my most capable lieutenant devolves into insanity driven by fatigue, then I have lost my most capable lieutenant. I would much prefer you spend two weeks in quiet solitude than become utterly useless in this war. Do you understand?"

Finally Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort bent down to kiss her again. He was more careful this time, dragging his tongue over her lips, soothing her as he tangled his fingers in her wild curls. He reached into his robes and pulled out a little scrap of paper, pushing it into Bellatrix's hand. Then he whispered against her lips.

"Go to the location I've written down. Stay there for two weeks. If someone tracks you, go to Capella Cottage. All the arrangements have been made. Your house-elf has packed your luggage and sent it ahead of you. I will be visiting you a few times. Go. Rest."

He pulled away from her and jerked his chin toward the door. Bellatrix mumbled something halfway between an apology and a thank-you, and she walked quickly from the office.

* * *

**February 1977**

**Penzance, Cornwall**

The Mews. Penzance.

That was what had been written on Bellatrix's little scrap of paper, so that was where she'd gone. She'd found herself in a Mediterranean-style complex of buildings in Cornwall, where it was mercifully warmer than the dreary weather she'd left in Wiltshire.

The Mews sat up on a little hill, well away from the town of Penzance, overlooking the rocky beaches with a sweeping view of the sea. The complex of granite structures proved to be luxuriously appointed, with elegant bedrooms, secluded reading rooms, comfortable seating, and a fully-stocked kitchen. There was a courtyard that Bellatrix imagined must be very lovely in the summertime. She wandered the property for a few hours, just exploring, and she pondered the fact that her lord and master had sent her here almost forcefully.

Did he anticipate some sort of attack? Did he not trust her to keep herself from getting killed? Or was it really so simple as her needing rest? She had, admittedly, been giving every bit of herself to the war effort recently. Day after day, she chased and battled, tortured and killed, and it was indeed draining to do so. But Bellatrix relished her work. She needed it to survive. Being here, lovely as it was, felt as though she were missing out on everything that mattered.

She was grateful, of course, to be singled out by the Dark Lord like this, to be sent somewhere so comfortable. But she couldn't help feeling abandoned as she ate a meal of soup and warm bread in a sunroom. She watched the sun set over the horizon, draping the sea in a blanket of night, and she sighed as she Banished her dishes down to the kitchens. She made her way to the grey-and-white bedroom she'd chosen, and she stripped off her robes in the en-suite bathroom. She drew a bath in the antique claw foot tub, pouring in soaps and oils from a selection in a cupboard. She flicked her wand at the Wizarding Radio on a shelf across the bathroom and sank into the hot water of the bath. She shut her eyes, breathing in the scents of lavender and rose, and she listened to a recording of Renaissance-style vocals that were as soothing as the bath.

Then the music ended, and a voice came scratching over the radio as the host said in a somber voice,

"I'm afraid it's that time we all dread each week. I'm going to read for you now the names of witches and wizards reported missing. It is feared that these men and women have been murdered, but no sign of them has been found. If you hear or see anything that may be of assistance, please contact Bartemius Crouch at the Ministry of Magic at once. This week's Magical Missing are as follows… Aviva Thurston, thirty-two years of age. Peter Westcott, aged twenty-seven, his wife Jory Westcott, also twenty-seven, and their infant son Theo Wescott, six months of age. Also missing is Huntington Marsh, aged ninety-three, of Portsmouth. Finally, we have just today received a plea from the family of Morwenna Sylvan, aged nineteen, who disappeared whilst shopping in Diagon Alley with her mother. Listeners, if you have any information about these missing witches or wizards, please do contact the Ministry at once. Thank you."

A new doleful Renaissance melody came scratching over the radio. Bellatrix kept her eyes shut and breathed in the scented oils and soaps again. She knew nothing about the Westcott family or the man called Huntington Marsh that had been mentioned, but she did know the Ministry wasn't going to find the body of Aviva Thurston. Bellatrix had Vanished it herself after the witch had spent weeks in captivity undergoing extensive torture - punishment for trying to kill Bellatrix in battle. As for Morwenna Sylvan… she'd been kidnapped by Rodolphus and Rabastan and brought to Malfoy Manor. She was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, though interrogations by even the Dark Lord had yielded little helpful information. Bellatrix had killed Morwenna, and her husband and brother-in-law had done away with the body.

This was why the Dark Lord had forced her to come her on holiday, Bellatrix realised. She'd been doing nothing but dueling, fleeing, torturing, chasing, and killing. Her body was tired, but her mind was exhausted. He'd been right about that. As much as she wanted to give everything she had to him, he knew that she could not do that without a small break.

She pulled herself from the bath when the water started to go cold. She could have warmed it back up with her wand, but she was bored of bathing. She opened the trunk of clothes that had been sent ahead of her, and she pulled out a cream satin nightgown and a black satin robe. She tied it loosely around her waist and yanked her untamed curls into a thick braid over one shoulder. She slipped into the wide bed, adoring the feel of the soft feather pillows beneath her head and warm duvet above her.

It took no time at all for her to fall asleep, and then she dreamed that she was riding a thestral through a forest at nighttime. There was a dim blue light ahead of her, and Bellatrix was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Her thestral carried her forward, toward the little blue light, and then she was being rotated carefully in the bed as a voice murmured, "Bella…"

"Mmm," Bellatrix murmured in her sleep, thinking this dream had taken quite a nice turn. "My Lord."

"Open your eyes," said the voice, and Bellatrix tried. She was too tired, and the blue light in the forest was still calling to her. Someone was kissing her lips, someone who tasted like salvation, and she whispered again,

"My Lord…"

"Bellatrix." His voice was more steely then, and suddenly Bellatrix's eyes flew open. The dream of the forest was yanked away, and Bellatrix blinked through the moonlight to try and figure whether she was still asleep. Lord Voldemort smirked from where he lay in the bed beside her, shirtless and calm. His voice was a bit gentler as he assured her, "You're awake."

"My Lord," Bellatrix said once more, this time so reverently that it came out like a prayer. She scooted her body closer to his and burrowed her face against the warm skin of his chest. He turned a bit so that he lay on his back, urging Bellatrix to lace her leg over his. He laced their fingers together, and he brought the ring he'd given her to his lips so he could kiss it. Bellatrix hummed a little against his skin, and she listened as he said,

"Even the Dark Lord himself needs a day or two every now and then."

"Do you mean to stay the whole night, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, looking up at the dark eyes that had started to gain crow's feet from stress and age.

"I mean to stay three days. Abraxas knows where to reach me if he must. I've been fighting just as hard as you, Bella. I've been doing things beyond your imagination. Very tiring things. Of all of them - everyone sitting at that table at Malfoy Manor - only you and I have earned this brief little respite."

Bellatrix felt herself starting to fall asleep again, and as the Dark Lord petted her hair a bit, she wondered if he was using magic to put her to sleep. He was so powerful, she knew, that wandless and nonverbal spells were quite easy for him.

"I love you, My Lord," her voice mumbled in the last vestiges of semi-consciousness. She might have been embarrassed at the way she'd said it, but she was hardly awake. Her voice said again, "I love you more than life itself. So much… so much more than anything."

"Oh, Bella," some distant part of her brain heard him whisper, "If I had no one else in all the world left, I would still have you. Wouldn't I?"

"Until death or victory, My Lord," she whispered. Or she thought she whispered it. Perhaps she said it in a dream. It didn't matter; sleep took her over and all conscious thought was gone.

* * *

**February 1977**

**Penzance, Cornwall**

Lord Voldemort, the great and fearsome Dark Lord… woke up with an erection.

Now, this was neither unusual nor problematic, strictly speaking. Like nearly all adult human men, Voldemort was accustomed to waking hard. Usually, he simply let it pass, going about his morning rituals without attending to it. The issue just now was that it was not exactly morning; the clock on the wall read 2:45, and it was still dark as pitch outside. The other issue was that this erection felt a great deal more urgent than the usual morning ones.

It didn't help, of course, that Bellatrix was fast asleep, curled up beside him. Her right hand was splayed on his chest, so that he could plainly see the emerald ring he'd put there three and a half years earlier. Her dark curls felt soft on his skin, and the way her leg twined with his was downright pleasant.

He thought of wrenching her up onto his throbbing staff, rudely awakening her by plunging her down onto him. But she would be dry and confused, and that would be no fun at all. So Voldemort just breathed in the scent of her and shut his eyes, trying to fall back asleep as he listened to the waves crashing on the rocks outside. It didn't work, and his focus turned to how soft the skin between her shoulder blades was beneath his hand, the way her breath came in a slow, steady rhythm that was vaguely comforting.

"Bella," Voldemort whispered, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. She mumbled something unintelligible and shifted a little, but stayed asleep. He used his free hand to peel back the blankets, to carefully pull his dark pajamas down over his hips, and he took her hand from his chest. He guided it downward, wrapping it around the firm velvet shaft that was aching for attention. He covered her hand with his and pumped up and down slowly, feeling his heart start to accelerate. His voice croaked a little when he said again, more insistently, "Bella."

She was awake now. He could tell, even though she hadn't moved her head, because her hand was moving of its own accord now. Her lips kissed the skin that covered his ribs, and she wordlessly slithered downward and moved between his legs. Voldemort bent his knees around her and watched as her drowsy eyes met his in the moonlight. She kept her eyes on his as she dragged her tongue up, all the way from the base of his shaft to the tip. Voldemort growled with surprise at how good that felt. Erections he had after waking were usually less sensitive, less demanding, than ones obtained during sexual activity.

This time, there was nothing dull or insensitive. Every time she dragged her tongue, or swirled it around him, Voldemort hissed. When she dipped her head down his length, taking him far into her throat with practised skill, he groaned and grasped at her sheets. He squirmed rather helplessly as she bobbed up and down, his tip hitting the back of her throat over and over. He was dizzy, lost in how good it felt.

"Bella," he whispered, feeling everything go tight and anxious inside him. He whispered it again, that name that tasted delicious as it escaped his lips. "Bella… Bella…"

She moaned like a whore when he came. He knew women didn't like the bitter taste of a man's seed, but he could see straight into Bellatrix's mind that she liked the taste of his. The metallic tang that would have repulsed anyone else was nourishment to Bellatrix. She groaned and drank it all, soothing his twitching cock with soft kisses.

After a long moment of panting and staring at the ceiling again, Voldemort reached with a shaking hand for his yew wand from the table beside the bed. A strange, fleeting thought came into his mind that he ought to teach Bellatrix how to make a Horcrux, so that he wouldn't lose her if she were killed in battle. He shoved the thought away and aimed his wand at Bellatrix, watching her dark eyes go wide where she knelt between his legs.

"Summagaudens," Voldemort murmured, thinking it only polite that he should reward what she'd just done to him. Her eyes closed and her head tipped back as the climax from his spell took her over. She cried out, and her hands kneaded his thighs for support. He liked to watch her finish. He liked to see the way the nipples on her small, round breasts peaked. He liked to watch her breath quicken, to hear her moans of satisfaction. Once her climax faded, Voldemort said softly,

"It's still the middle of the night. Lie back down. Go back to sleep."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and he realised she'd not said anything at all since he'd awakened her. He pulled his flannel trousers back up as she settled onto the pillow beside him, demurely facing away from him. Voldemort frowned, covering them both with the duvet again and nestling his body tightly against the back of hers. He draped his arm around her possessively, and he laced his fingers through hers. His thumb stroked the emerald ring on her right hand, the right that branded her as his. He kissed the back of her shoulder and heard her mutter something about adoring him. He was too drowsy to answer, and they were both asleep again within moments, anyway.

* * *

The morning that the Dark Lord was to leave, to go back to reality, Bellatrix leaned against the doorjamb of the bathroom and watched him brush shaving cream onto his face. He held a straight razor in his right hand, and he studied his own reflection carefully as he dragged the razor over his jaw. It was alluring, fascinating, and very attractive, Bellatrix thought, to watch him do this. For a minute, he pretended not to notice she was there. Finally, just barely moving his lips as he pulled the razor down his cheek, Voldemort asked,

"And here I've spent my entire adult life thinking that shaving was a dull and tedious activity. Is it so very intriguing?"

Bellatrix laughed a bit and stood up straight in the doorway. "Everything you do is intriguing, My Lord," she said. Then she turned to go and said, "I shall use the other bathroom to get ready."

"Bella," he said firmly, and she turned back. He stared at her for a long moment, a quarter of his elegant face still covered in shaving cream. Bellatrix felt self-conscious as his eyes moved around her form, but she said nothing. He sighed and shut his eyes, and then he nodded as he turned to the mirror again.

An hour later, they were both dressed properly, clean and well-rested at the stout wooden table in the dining room. It was unseasonably warm today, so Bellatrix had thrown open the enormous windows that looked out over the cerulean sea. She'd made porridge and had sliced up some apples, and she'd brewed tea. As the Dark Lord took his seat, Bellatrix poured a little bit of milk into his tea, just as he preferred. She sat opposite him, wishing that he did not have to leave today. He must have felt that thought, because he said a bit sternly,

"It is for the best that I leave, I think."

Bellatrix frowned as she looked up at him. She opened her mouth, but before she could question him, the Dark Lord said matter-of-factly.

"You know how Lord Voldemort takes his tea. You have seen Lord Voldemort shaving. You have spent the past several nights curled up against Lord Voldemort, and you have seen him when he wakes from sleep, when his hair is a mess and he needs a shower. What does all of that mean, Madam Lestrange?"

Bellatrix's stomach churned at those last two words, and her eyes burned. She shrugged and shook her head wordlessly.

"You and I have grown entirely too familiar," Voldemort said, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward a bit. Bellatrix shook her head again, feeling like she'd been punched, but he nodded and raised his eyebrows. "If I know what you look like at your weakest, Bellatrix, it is no matter. I am your lord and master. You belong to me. But there is nobody - not even you - who ought to see as much of me as you have. I think perhaps I ought to Obliviate these last few days from your mind and simply put you back into battle."

Bellatrix considered, for a split second, arguing with him. She thought about insisting that shaving did not make him weak, that he was more handsome than ever in the dim light of the early morning. Instead, her voice cracked as she said,

"Whatever you think is best, My Lord. You know my mind is yours, fully and completely. If there is something you think I ought not to have seen, then please cleanse my memories to your liking. I will gladly go back into the fray, if that is where you want me. I only -"

"Bellatrix, I want you to…" Voldemort interrupted her, then trailed off, his cheekbones going pink as he pinched his lips and fumed. He wrenched his eyes shut for a moment, and Bellatrix wished more than ever that she could see his thoughts as easily as he could see hers. Suddenly he grabbed his wand and pointed it at the large, opened windows. "Reducto!"

Bellatrix gasped quietly as the windowpanes smashed, splintering into bits so tiny that they lay on the tile floor like piles of clear-blue dust. The Dark Lord turned his wand on Bellatrix, and she shook in her seat, thinking he was either about to kill her or wipe her memory. As she thought back over the past three days, she wasn't sure which would be worse. She shut her eyes and readied herself for death or ignorance.

"Get over here," she heard his voice say in a shaky, angry tone. Bellatrix opened her eyes and saw that he'd set his wand down on the table again. He had his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, looking frustrated and tired as he growled again, "Come over here, Bella. Now!"

She rose immediately and obeyed him, walking around the table to where he sat. She'd left her own wand at her chair, very deliberately, and she watched his back rise and fall quickly with his angry breathing. Finally he raised his head to hers, his dark eyes looking black as coal as they glittered with something Bellatrix could not read. He pulled himself up to stand, looming over her, and then he grabbed at her left hand. He wrenched her sleeve back, revealing the scarlet inactive Dark Mark. He brought her arm up to his mouth and dragged his lips over the Mark. Bellatrix gasped at the sting, the pain, and watched the Dark Mark go black.

Before she knew what was happening, Voldemort had clutched her face in his hands and was crushing her mouth with a brutal kiss. His tongue invaded her, searching for something neither of them could reach, and he sucked her lip roughly between his teeth. Bellatrix moaned against him, confused and desperate for breath. He pulled her even closer by the small of her back, his hands grasping all over her as his mouth bruised hers. Bellatrix felt tears starting to leak from her eyes. What was all of this? He was angry with her because she knew him too well. He wanted to Obliviate her. He wanted her back in action. He wanted her to stay here. He wanted… what did he want? Bellatrix cried harder, wishing with all her might that she just knew what he wanted so that she could make him happy.

"Don't you understand, you silly little girl?" Voldemort hissed, yanking his mouth from hers. "Don't you understand that the entire problem here is what I want? It's you! Don't you understand?"

He shoved her shoulders so hard that she stumbled and lost her balance. He walked toward her, glaring down from where he stood, and Bellatrix scrambled backwards in fear. Her hands crunched onto a pile of splintered glass from where he'd obliterated the windows, and though she knew her palms were bleeding, she said nothing. Voldemort reached for his wand and aimed it at her. The tip of it shook in a way Bellatrix was unaccustomed to seeing. He opened his mouth, and Bellatrix tensed up, prepared for torture or death or whatever else he was about to hurl at her. But he lowered his wand and shut his eyes, dragging his fingers through his dark hair as he murmured,

"You're to stay here until you are summoned by me. I don't know how long that will be. You're not to contact anyone by owl, and you will not leave these grounds. When I am ready for you to enter active service again, I will summon you. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix nodded and whispered, "Yes, My Lord."

She said it obediently, as she always said everything to him, but she could do nothing to stop the tears streaming down her face. Her bloodied hands hurt, but not nearly so badly as her wounded soul. He wanted nothing to do with her. Bellatrix walked over to the table and picked up her wand, quietly muttering healing spells to fix her cut palms. She repaired the windows with some effort, for the Dark Lord had shattered them into the tiniest of shards. All the while, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her. She asked hesitantly,

"W-would you like me to heat up your porridge for you? It's probably gone cold, and I -"

"If I wanted the damned porridge, I would heat it up myself," he barked, and Bellatrix shrunk away again. She nodded and Banished her own dishes to the kitchen. She'd quite lost her appetite.

"Stay here until I summon you," he said again, and then he started to walk toward the exterior door of the main building. Bellatrix did not call a farewell after him; she didn't dare. She just stood there and watched him go, heard the soft crack from outside where he'd Disapparated, and cried harder than ever. She sank into the chair at the table, heaving with sobs as she tried to think where she'd gone wrong, what she had done to make him leave her behind.

He'd teased her about seeing her 'holiday' as an exile. But now there was no doubt; Bellatrix had most assuredly been exiled. Banished like the dishes of porridge and tea. He'd cast her out because she had grown too familiar. Bellatrix had been betrayed more than once in her life, and she'd done her fair share of betrayal. But this - the way the Dark Lord had shoved her out of a kiss onto the ground, the way he'd threatened to Obliviate away memories of their intimacy - hurt worse than anything ever had in Bellatrix's entire life.

She shut her eyes as tightly as she could and pushed a thought into the void, knowing he wouldn't sense it, but needing to think it at him anyway.

Forgive me, My Lord. I am so sorry. Please… I beg you… do not keep me away too long. I will stay at Castle Lestrange; I will never speak to you again if you don't wish it. But, My Lord… please, please let me serve you again. I am nothing on my own.


	4. Chapter 4

**March 1977**

**Penzance, Cornwall**

"Piloruflavus." Bellatrix aimed her wand at her head and giggled maniacally at the result of the spell. She looked terrible blonde, she thought, staring into the mirror and grinning as she fingered her newly-flaxen waves. How was it that her own sister Narcissa looked positively radiant with blonde hair, and Bellatrix looked downright silly? Bellatrix shook her head and rolled her eyes, murmuring, "Finite Incantatem."

The Wizarding radio in the corner played some of the latest popular wizarding music, tunes from a rock band called The Keepers.

"Girl, I'm gonna block your shots. You think you're hot, but you're so not. This keeper's gonna keep you far away, far away…"

Bellatrix hummed along with the inane music and glanced down at the elaborate clothing she'd made for herself. She'd been alone at the Mews for nearly a month now, and about a week earlier had fully given up on the idea of the Dark Lord ever calling her back. She would die alone here, probably, and Bellatrix had accepted that. But if she was going to go mad from solitude, she would have fun doing it.

So these last few days, she'd devoted a good deal of time to playing around with cosmetic spells and with tailoring spells. Now she wore a wispy gown of emerald tulle and silk, with a bustier of lacy bronze encasing her stomach. More bronze was at her shoulders, giving her a bit of an armoured look. The emerald tulle flowed down her back like a cape, and Bellatrix had quite liked the effect when she'd stood on a balcony and let the wind billow her creation.

Now Bellatrix's hair was back to its natural black colour, but she studied the curl of her hair with a newfound curiosity. It looked rotten blonde, but how would it look straight? Bellatrix looked down at the book of personal Transfiguration spells she'd found in one of the reading rooms, thumbing through the section on hair until she found a spell for making curly hair straight and smooth. She shrugged and sniffed lightly, aiming her wand at her hair again and saying rather uncertainly, "Pilorudirecta."

The curls instantly dissolved, leaving her hair long, black, and straight. Bellatrix blinked quickly a few times, rather amazed at how different she looked without the volume of her curls around her face. It wasn't entirely bad; it was just so very different, and…

Bellatrix's train of thought was interrupted by a sharp pain on her left forearm. She gasped softly and stared at her Dark Mark, which had suddenly gone black. Bellatrix reached a shaking hand up and switched off the Wizarding Radio, swallowing heavily. Was she imagining this? Surely he didn't want her now, not after he'd left in such anger a month earlier. Bellatrix brushed her fingers over the Dark Mark and felt the unmistakable sting of his call. Suddenly overwhelmed with joy, Bellatrix felt happy tears flood her eyes. She dashed out of the boudoir, down the main corridor, and out into the courtyard. She shut her eyes, holding her wand tightly in her right hand, and she felt the magic of the Dark Mark boiling inside her. She turned hard to her right and Disapparated with a resounding crack, her heart racing with the knowledge that she was about to see her lord again.

* * *

**March 1977**

**Handsworth, Birmingham**

"My Lord," acknowledged Abraxas Malfoy as he stepped out of the shadows. Beside him stood Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, along with Abraxas' son Lucius. The four had answered their master's call and had come to this dark street in Birmingham. A cold drizzle cloaked the place in gloom, and Abraxas asked carefully, "Who is it?"

They wouldn't be here unless there was someone to take out. An enemy to eradicate. Voldemort glanced up to a row house and said in a solemn tone,

"There are five of them in there. Lyric Bones, Benjy Fenwick, Rubeus Hagrid, Elliot McKinnon… and Albus Dumbledore. Hagrid's useless; his wand was snapped ages ago and he's hidden the shards in a stupid little umbrella."

The others laughed quietly at Voldemort's jape, and he glared at them. "Do not underestimate Elliot McKinnon. His wife was taken out, and he's got a mighty chip on his shoulder for it. Same with Lyric Bones."

"The elder sister of Madrigal Bones," Rodolphus Lestrange nodded. Then Lucius Malfoy said boldly,

"We'll leave Dumbledore to you, My Lord, but never fear. The rest of us can handle them one on one."

Voldemort huffed out a little sigh of frustration at the boy's arrogance. He'd hesitated to do this, to call her, but he felt a pang in the back of his mind insisting that he needed her here to help in this battle. Voldemort pulled back the sleeve of his black robe and touched the tip of his wand to his arm, closing his eyes and summoning Bellatrix.

"Just one more," he said matter-of-factly in response to the curious looks he was getting from the Lestrange brothers and the Malfoys. He stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for her whilst the others softly discussed strategy.

In the past month, Lord Voldemort had tried desperately to cut Bellatrix from his thoughts. But at more than one battle, he'd found himself missing her vicious skill and her lack of fear. At more than one meeting, he'd found himself missing the way she fawned over him with the unconditional loyalty that the others only pretended to have. More than once, he'd considered a young witch or two, thinking he might find some carnal relief with them, but he'd never wanted to weaken himself with any of them. More than once, he'd been lying awake in his luxurious quarters at Malfoy Manor and had been tempted to summon her, tempted to call to her. He'd resisted that temptation… until now.

He wondered what was taking her so long, but then there was a soft crack in the alley behind the other wizards. Voldemort and the others turned to see Bellatrix come striding from the shadows, and Voldemort's mouth fell open at the sight of her.

She'd made her hair straight and smooth, and it positively shined when the drizzle made it wet. Her dress was cut scandalously low, her airy skirts blowing a bit in the cold wind. She must be freezing, Voldemort thought distantly, to be bare-armed and clad in such light material in this freezing rain. But she'd come from Cornwall, and it was far colder here. She hadn't been expecting his call, probably. He finally met her eyes and saw the way she walked straight past her husband and paused just a bit ahead of Voldemort. Rodolphus stared at his wife, and in his mind (and Rabastan's, and Abraxas', and Lucius') Voldemort could read utter wonder at the way Bellatrix had made herself so beautiful.

"My Lord," she said quietly, and Voldemort cleared his throat quite roughly. He debriefed her in a hurried, low voice, telling her who was in the row house and what the plan of action was.

"McKinnon and Bones," Bellatrix said knowingly. "They'll go for me. I'll take them out."

Voldemort nodded and said to the others, "Let's go, then."

He strode quite confidently to the row house in question, feeling the dull throb of wards around the place. He laughed aloud at Dumbledore's folly, to think that ordinary wards would keep out Lord Voldemort. He slashed his wand through the air as he dismantled the protective spells, and then he quickly ascended the stairs that led to the front door. With a nonverbal Blasting curse, he broke through the door and dashed to the left, into the sitting-room, his wand seeking out Albus Dumbledore.

The next few minutes were a blur of coloured light as duels broke out and spells criss-crossed the sitting-room. Albus Dumbledore's Legilimency buzzed inside Voldemort's mind as the other wizard tried and failed to read his former pupil's thoughts. Dumbledore dodged and blocked curse after curse. He Disapparated across the room just in time to avoid a Killing Curse, and he cast a curse of his own at Voldemort's back. Voldemort whirled round and shielded himself, sending the Stunning Spell off in a thousand direction as the blue bolt of light shattered.

"STUPEFY!" he heard Bellatrix scream, and he flicked his eyes to the right to see Bellatrix pointing her wand toward the collapsed form of Lyric Bones. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were actually having some difficulty with Rubeus Hagrid, which seemed strange since the beastly man wasn't exactly a quick-moving target. Voldemort realised that Dumbledore had put shields around Hagrid, and that the Lestranges were attempting to capture the man.

"Kill him!" Voldemort called to the Lestranges, aiming his wand back at Dumbledore and starting to verbalise another Killing Curse. But before he could, Dumbledore had Apparated to Hagrid's side and grabbed hold of the half-giant's clothing. Then he Disapparated, taking Hagrid with him to some other hiding-place. Voldemort scowled at the spot where Dumbledore and Hagrid had vanished, and he growled, "Bloody coward."

He watched Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy take on Benjy Fenwick, who was quickly matching and repelling their spells. But when the Lestranges moved to help the Malfoys, Fenwick seemed to sense that he was too outnumbered and would either die or be captured.

He called out, "Elliot, let's go!" and he turned hard to his right. Lucius Malfoy boldly lurched forward, attempting to grab Fenwick's robes and Disapparate with him, but Benjy Fenwick was gone in a blink. The Malfoys and Lestranges were left staring at an empty place on the rug where their enemy had stood.

Bellatrix was still facing Lyric Bones, and so she did not see the way Elliot McKinnon jabbed his wand toward her. Voldemort quickly read the man's mind and saw that he meant to kill Bellatrix, to avenge his wife. The fair-haired wizard's face twisted into an ugly sneer as the Killing Curse started to form on his lips. Before he could cast it, Voldemort raised his own wand and bellowed furiously,

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Elliot McKinnon slumped instantly in death, his body falling back and hitting an armchair as he collapsed awkwardly to the ground. Bellatrix whirled around at the sound of the Dark Lord's curse, at the flash of vivid green light. The other wizards did, as well, all of them staring at the dead body of Elliot McKinnon. They were all wondering, he knew, why the Dark Lord had killed the man instead of Stunning him. It was protocol to take known Order members into custody, to interrogate and torture them before killing them. The ferocity with which Voldemort had screamed the Killing Curse had surprised all of his followers in the room. Voldemort flicked his eyes to Bellatrix and said calmly,

"He had his wand aimed at you and was about to kill you."

"Oh." Bellatrix's face went pink with embarrassment as she realised she'd been sloppy in battle and had needed the Dark Lord to rescue her. She stammered, "Th-thank you, My Lord."

"Abraxas and Lucius, take Miss Bones to the dungeons at Malfoy Manor. Lock her in a cell. Bella and I will interrogate and execute her in the morning." Voldemort glanced down to the Stunned witch who lay splayed ungracefully in front of Bellatrix. At once, Abraxas pulled a coil of physical rope from the pocket of his robes, and he and his son began to tie Lyric Bones' ankles and wrists together. The Stunning Spell would wear off when they took her to Malfoy Manor by Side-Along Apparition, so they needed her physically bound and disabled. Lucius Malfoy picked up Lyric Bones' wand from the ground and tucked it away, and then he and his father hoisted up the witch's body, grabbed hold of one another, and Disapparated.

"Rabastan. Rodolphus." Voldemort turned his attention to the Lestrange brothers, noticing the way Rodolphus couldn't take his eyes off his wife. He seemed almost baffled by her, and Voldemort quickly scanned the wizard's thoughts. He was confused, wondering why exactly Bellatrix had been gone for so long and where she'd been. He was a bit perturbed by the way Bellatrix had completely ignored him since she'd come to fight. He was marveling at how pretty she looked, thinking he should like very much to have marital relations with her tonight. Voldemort ripped himself from Rodolphus' mind and said sharply to the Lestrange brothers,

"Take the body of Elliot McKinnon to Hogsmeade. Leave it in the centre of the High Street and cast Morsmordre. Then go back to Castle Lestrange."

"Yes, My Lord," Rabastan said, yanking on Rodolphus' sleeve until his brother snapped to attention. The two of them left the room the same way the Malfoys had done, holding each other and taking the corpse of Elliot McKinnon with them.

Then it was just Bellatrix and Voldemort in the sitting-room, a strange room in a strange place that was by no means safe.

"You were almost killed," Voldemort snapped at Bellatrix, his tone scolding her. "You were staring at a witch who was already Stunned, and McKinnon was a half-second from sending a Killing Curse straight at your back."

"I am very sorry for being careless, My Lord. I confess my reflexes felt slow tonight after… after so long on my own." Bellatrix's cheeks coloured again, and her full lips parted as Voldemort approached her. He brushed his knuckles over her collarbone and down the deep neckline of her scandalous gown. He let his fingers run over the swell of her cleavage, back up her neck to her jaw, and then he dragged his fingers through her silky, straight hair.

"Why do you look like this?" he asked, his voice laced with an emotion he could not readily identify. He clarified, "This provocative dress. Straight hair. The makeup. Why are you… you were alone. Why do you look like this?"

Bellatrix sighed and smirked a bit as she admitted, "I had given up on you calling for me, My Lord. I played around a bit with cosmetic spells to pass the time. I was in the middle of experimenting with my hair when my Dark Mark began to burn."

Voldemort blinked. She looked very pretty, but he missed her natural look. He brushed the tip of his wand over her hair and whispered, "Pilorucrispus."

Her hair sprang back into its usual state of wild curls, and Voldemort's lips curled up as he said confidently, "There. That's better."

Bellatrix said nothing; she just stared at him with pleading eyes. He didn't even have to use Legilimency to know what she was thinking. He'd left her in Cornwall by herself for a month. He'd left angry; he'd physically shoved her and had verbally rejected her. She was begging him silently now not to send her home to Castle Lestrange tonight. She was begging him to take her back in every sense of the word, to make her his again.

"Capella Cottage," Voldemort whispered, and Bellatrix nodded rather tearfully. Voldemort snared his fingers through hers and Disapparated, taking Bellatrix with him.

* * *

**June 1978**

**Malfoy Manor**

"Severus Snape, with this Mark I do declare that you have full membership among the ranks of my most valuable soldiers. You are now a Death Eater. Do you vow to serve me completely, with all of your might and honour?"

"I do so vow, My Lord," said the greasy-haired young man before Lord Voldemort. Bellatrix eyed Severus Snape with a bit of suspicion. He seemed almost too eager to join the Death Eaters, though of course Bellatrix knew her own enthusiasm probably seemed excessive to some. She felt a strange churning scepticism as Snape ogled his freshly cast Dark Mark, but she clapped along with those gathered. Tonight they had taken three new initiates into their ranks - Severus Snape and two other recent Hogwarts graduates called Nathaniel Bulstrode and Theodora Yaxley. Bellatrix knew Nathaniel Bulstrode well; he came from a distinguished family that ran in the same circles as Bellatrix's. Theodora Yaxley was a younger cousin of Sabine, and though Bellatrix did not know Theodora well, she behaved in a much more severe and angry manner than the mousy Sabine. As for Severus Snape… Bellatrix found herself unable to fully trust the boy. His name meant nothing to her, and she'd been informed that his father was a Muggle. A half-blood, made a Death Eater. It was odd and Bellatrix didn't like the idea. However, she knew better than to question her master out loud, and she tried her best not to question him in her mind, either.

After the ceremony bestowing Dark Marks upon the three new Death Eaters, a little party broke out. There was food and drink and music, and everyone milled about chatting and socialising. Bellatrix made her way over to the stringy-haired young man, Severus Snape, who stood along looking surly in the corner.

"Hello," she said simply, and Severus Snape pushed his ugly hair away from his ugly face. He nodded and said in a deep, oily voice,

"Madam Lestrange. I've heard a great deal about your prowess in battle."

"And all I've heard about you comes from my sister, who had the distinct honour of being in your Hogwarts House for several years when you were very young," Bellatrix countered. She shrugged and said, "Narcissa says you were known as quite the potioneer, but that you were bullied relentlessly by a group of Gryffindors. Is that so?"

Severus Snape sniffed again and looked embarrassed. He spoke carefully then as he said, "I would not call it 'bullying,' Madam Lestrange, so much as I would call it a situation of enmity. I had enemies in Gryffindor, yes. I believe they are now members of the Order of the Phoenix. James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, and your cousin, Sirius Black."

Bellatrix scoffed and looked at her fingernails as she insisted, "I've no idea what you're talking about with that last one. I have no cousin named Sirius."

"Just as you've no sister called Andromeda?" Snape asked, and Bellatrix raised her eyes to glare at him.

"I do not like you, and I do not trust you," she said quite plainly, and Snape shrugged a bit as he said smoothly,

"Luckily for us both, I suppose, it is only the opinion of the Dark Lord that matters, hm?"

"It is very lucky indeed for you that that's the case, Snape." Bellatrix rolled her eyes and huffed out a disgusted little sigh. Then she simpered in a sarcastic voice, "I bid you a very warm welcome into our ranks."

He bowed his head and said in a tone that came across as very sincere, "Thank you kindly, Madam Lestrange."

"Bellatrix," said a voice beside her, and Bellatrix turned to see Rodolphus. He seemed to be trying to diffuse an obviously tense exchange, and he asked her rather sharply, "Will you dance with me?"

Bellatrix didn't want to dance with Rodolphus, but she could hardly reject her own husband publicly. So she forced a little smile and said nothing more to Severus Snape as Rodolphus led her to the dance floor. A few other couples were dancing - The Bulstrodes, the Rosiers, and the Yaxleys, along with Rabastan and his new bride Scarlett Avery. As Rodolphus guided Bellatrix in a steady, slow dance, Bellatrix eyed her brother-in-law and his wife.

"She's far too young for him," Bellatrix said disapprovingly to Rodolphus. Poor Scarlett Avery was only eighteen years old, and was already several months into her first pregnancy from Rabastan, who was ten years her senior.

Rodolphus shrugged. "The girls in the repopulation programme were her age, even a year younger, and many were paired up with men far older that Rabastan."

Bellatrix scowled at her husband. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's not supposed to make you feel anything. It's just the truth, Bellatrix," Rodolphus said testily. His hands tensed on her, and finally he murmured, "I would very much like you to come to my bed tonight."

"No." Bellatrix shook her head. They'd not been physical in a great long while and Rodolphus knew full well why that was. Just the same, Bellatrix reminded him, "You know the Dark Lord forbade it. Not until the war is done."

"Are you my wife, or aren't you?" Rodolphus asked, his voice cracking. His hand caressed Bellatrix's waist a bit, and he lowered his face to say softly in her ear, "I am entitled to -"

"You are entitled to nothing!" Bellatrix said firmly, pulling her face from his. They kept dancing, and Rodolphus' hand tightened on Bellatrix's waist as his face looked at once desperate and angry. Then, very suddenly, the Dark Lord himself walked up and said to Rodolphus in a smooth tone,

"May I cut in, Rodolphus?"

"My Lord." Rodolphus released Bellatrix and moved away as he bowed respectfully. He walked away without looking back at his wife, and Voldemort seamlessly took Rodolphus' place. His hands felt so much better on Bellatrix than Rodolphus' had. She felt a buzz in her head as he stared down and pushed his way in, sorting through her emotions and thoughts for a while. She took down all the mental barriers he'd taught her to construct, and she just moved with him for a bit until the pressure in her head abated. He cleared his throat a bit and said,

"First of all, Bellatrix, it was Scarlett Avery who so desperately wanted to marry Rabastan. Her acceptance of his marriage proposal was, without a doubt, the most enthusiastic acceptance I have ever witnessed."

Bellatrix sighed deeply and nodded, realising that that made sense. Rabastan was a handsome man with a solid reputation. Lord Voldemort dragged his thumb along Bellatrix's and tightened his hand on her back.

"Secondly," he said in a very low voice, "It is not your place to question whether or not Severus Snape is a suitable Death Eater. That decision is mine alone to make, and your personal opinion of him holds no weight whatsoever. You will behave amicably toward him. I will not tolerate infighting. Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She swallowed heavily, meeting his piercing stare as she added, "I am sorry for my impudence, My Lord."

"And finally," Voldemort said, ignoring her apology entirely, "You will not spend the night with Rodolphus. As you reminded him, you are his only insofar as you share his last name. Your body is mine and mine alone. You know that; he will be reminded of it. You will stay here tonight. In my rooms. In the meantime, in order to clarify things for him…"

He stopped dancing then, keeping Bellatrix in his arms as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. She shivered a bit at the way he brushed his lips against hers, the way he took his time deepening the kiss into something that was incredibly intimate for such a public setting. When at last he pulled away, Bellatrix could feel dozens of eyes on her. Her cheeks went hot, and she had no idea what to say. Voldemort seemed utterly unaffected by the stares, and he murmured to Bellatrix,

"Go to my suite. I want you waiting for me in my bed, naked and ready. I will be there in twenty minutes. Go."

Bellatrix was breathless and dizzy as she nodded and descended into a deep curtsy. She spared a glance toward Rodolphus as she left the ballroom, reading the humiliation on her husband's face as she did. Bellatrix flashed him a look halfway between an apology and a shrug. She left the low din of the gathering behind as she walked away, striding with feigned confidence through the winding corridors of Malfoy Manor. Suddenly she heard her sister's panting voice behind her.

"Bella!"

She whirled around to see Narcissa hurrying toward her. Narcissa's face was blotchy, and Bellatrix could tell she'd been crying. She held her sister's hands once Narcissa reached her, and she listened as Narcissa said tearfully,

"It's Mother. I've just received an owl from Father. She's been admitted to St. Mungo's. They're not entirely sure what… some sort of awful disease, and they don't think she has much time. We have to go, Bella; we have to leave and go see her before she… before she…"

"Cissy, I can't go anywhere right now!" Bellatrix insisted, feeling conflicted to her core. "The Dark Lord has directly ordered me to wait for him in his rooms. I can't… I can't leave."

"But surely he would understand!" Narcissa said wildly, tears streaming down her cheeks. She swiped her sleeve at her nose and said in a desperate voice, "Mummy is dying, Bella. We have to go!"

Bellatrix looked over Narcissa's shoulder toward the ballroom, and she told her sister, "Twenty minutes. He told me twenty minutes. You go to St. Mungo's, Cissy. I'll be along just as soon as I can. Promise."

Narcissa's face crumpled, and she sounded bitter as she admitted, "Sometimes, Bella, I wish he didn't cling to you the way he does."

Bellatrix slapped Narcissa's face on instinct, watching as her little sister gasped and held her cheek. Shock and betrayal crossed her features, and Bellatrix's voice shook as she said,

"Hold your tongue, Cissy. It is not for you to question him on anything. Most especially what he does with his own time."

"Or who he does," Narcissa said, narrowing his eyes as if to dare Bellatrix to hit her again. Bellatrix nearly reached for her wand to jinx her sister, but Narcissa lowered her hand from her cheek and shook her head sadly. "I'm going straight to St. Mungo's," she said. "Lucius is informing the Dark Lord now. You come whenever he's finished with you."

Then she turned around and walked away, leaving Bellatrix to think about her mother in hospital as she walked solemnly to the Dark Lord's suite.

* * *

**June 1978**

**Malfoy Manor**

"My Lord," said Lucius Malfoy cautiously, approaching Voldemort where he stood leaning against a wall. Voldemort raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Lucius said in a hushed tone, "Narcissa received an owl a few minutes ago from her father. Druella Black is in St. Mungo's in dire condition. Her death is imminent, and Cygnus asked both girls to come at once."

Voldemort felt surprise go through him. Druella Black was only fifty years of age; how could she possibly have come down with a deathly illness so quickly? Unless she'd been sick for a long while and had withheld that information to keep from distracting Narcissa and Bellatrix.

"Where are they now?" Voldemort asked sharply, moving away from the wall.

"Narcissa went to find Bellatrix, My Lord," Lucius said. Then his cheeks coloured a bit, and he said softly, "If I may be so bold as to request it, My Lord, I beg you will let them both go to St. Mungo's. I fear this will be their farewell to their mother. She's had unexplained systemic organ failure for a while now, and the healers can do nothing for her."

Voldemort glanced around the ballroom and said crisply, "If something urgent comes up, I shall be in my suite."

"Yes, My Lord," Lucius nodded, and Voldemort hurried out of the ballroom and down the corridor.

He knew she would obey him instead of listening to her sister, and so he was utterly unsurprised to find her sitting naked on the edge of his bed, her eyes puffy from crying. Still, he slammed the door shut and barked at her,

"What the blazes are you doing? Get dressed; your mother is in the damned hospital on death's door. Get dressed and go use the Floo Powder in the library. Now, Bella."

"Thank you, My Lord," she mumbled, swiping her wrist over her damp eyes as she hurried to yank her clothes back on. Voldemort felt a very odd twist in his chest as he watched her dress, and he said in a quiet voice,

"Did you honestly think I would keep you here and… for Merlin's sake, Bellatrix. Get dressed and go."

"Thank you, My Lord," she said again, nodding as she buttoned up her high-necked, sleeveless dress of black raw silk. She bowed her head as she passed him, and on instinct, he snatched her wrist and yanked her back for a moment. He stared at her eyes, the eyes that were mourning a mother about to die, and he said in far too gentle a tone,

"Come back here when you're done at St. Mungo's. Not for… you'll be keeping your clothes on."

Bellatrix nodded and squeezed his hand, and as she opened the door, she began to dash down the corridor toward the library. In less than a minute's time, she'd be inside St. Mungo's. The way she was rushing, the urgency she exhibited now, contrasted so sharply with the way she'd obediently stripped off her clothes and waited for him as he'd ordered.

Voldemort got drunk again that night, for the first time in almost two years. He didn't get quite so inebriated as he'd done the night of Bellatrix's twenty-fifth birthday party, but he was certainly beyond tipsy two hours into his melancholic wallowing.

The last year had seen enormous gains in the ranks of his followers, but several Death Eaters had been rounded up and put into Azkaban. Others had been killed in battle. The Order of the Phoenix had grown in numbers, and in sophistication, and was proving a more formidable enemy by the day. Albus Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort knew might best him in a duel, and the bastard was at the very head of the opposition. But the last year had seen Bellatrix conducting her finest work, often extracting valuable information through extraordinary torture skills so that Voldemort did not need to constantly utilise Legilimency on prisoners.

The previous year, he'd allowed her to get far too close to him on a personal level. He'd sent her away, had tried to rid himself of her, but he'd finally given up and realised that she was an integral part of his success, and of what little contentment he experienced. He would not want her gone, he knew. He would not want her dead, and he had no real desire to give up the strange closeness he shared with her. He'd surrendered to the fact that Bellatrix would know more about him than the rest of them ever would. He'd surrendered to the fact that she was madly in love with him. He also knew that while he knew nothing of love himself, he certainly felt very differently about Bellatrix than he did about the others. Never had he wanted to badly to protect another human being, to ensure their safety or their happiness. Never had he felt jealousy about another man showing a woman affection. Never had he gained energy or bliss from simply spending time talking with someone.

Not until Bellatrix.

Voldemort sat in his claw-foot bath tub, sipping at a tumbler of whiskey as he shut his eyes and remembered the first night they'd met. He could still hear the tremble in her voice when she'd greeted him for the first time. He could still see the awe in her wide eyes. He remembered vividly, nearly ten years on, the surprise he'd experienced at discovering the depth of her devotion. Over the past decade, she had only grown more devoted, more skilled, more beautiful. He'd wanted her initially for her loyalty, and then for her body. Now he wanted her for reasons that made no sense at all to him, and so Voldemort drank whiskey.

After a long while, he drained the bath tub and toweled himself off, pulling grey flannel pants from his wardrobe and yanking them on. He stood shirtless and silent at the window, staring out onto the moonlit gardens. He saw a little blur just beyond the gates and realised it was a blonde woman being supported by a figure in black. Bellatrix and Narcissa. The younger sister appeared to be sobbing uncontrollably, and Bellatrix was helping to guide her into the house.

A more compassionate man would have thrown on a dressing-gown and hurried outside to assist the two young witches. But Voldemort just watched curiously as Bellatrix practically dragged Narcissa up the steps, as the two of them walked through the enormous doors that swung open for them.

Another ten minutes passed, and then there were three firm knocks on the door to Voldemort's suite. He turned away from the window, taking one last swig of whiskey, and called,

"Enter."

She did, looking so stoic that he knew she was damming up her tears and sorrow. He pushed into her head and saw a witch lying still and lifeless on a hospital bed. Cygnus Black was begging the healer for an explanation, for a reason why his wife's organs had failed her at fifty years of age. Narcissa was holding her mother's hand, repeating, 'No, no, no… Mummy… no…' Bellatrix sat in a chair beside the bed and just stared. She had seen so much death in her life, and had spent so little time with her mother, that this death was no more significant than the others. That was what she tried to convince herself.

Voldemort pulled out of her mind, sat on the bench beneath the bay window, and folded his arms over his bare chest.

"It is perfectly acceptable to feel sadness and grief at the loss of your mother," he said matter-of-factly, and Bellatrix nodded.

"I'm all right, My Lord," she insisted bravely, but he tipped his head and said,

"No, you're not. Come here."

Usually, when he said those words to her, they came as a barked order. Now, slurred by whiskey and dulled a bit by the way he felt toward her, it sounded almost like a plea.

Bellatrix shucked off her outer robe and hung it up on the coat rack, kicking off her shoes and plodding across the floor to Voldemort. He set his empty tumbler down, and she eyed it knowingly. He laced his arms around her, urging her to straddle his lap. She pulled aside her layered skirts that covered her leggings - tonight she wore an outfit made for easy movement in battle - and she put her knees on the window bench. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, and he heard her say in a disbelieving whisper,

"She's dead, My Lord. Gone."

"I know."

A distant part of his mind was suddenly very grateful that he'd made Horcruxes, that he would never be a lifeless corpse on a hospital bed. Another small part of his mind thought perhaps he ought to comfort Bellatrix, that that was the human thing to do just now. He rubbed his hand over her back and kissed her cheek, but he felt rather silly treating her like that.

"Tell me what you want," he heard himself murmur, and she pulled away from his neck and looked him square in the face as she said,

"My Lord, I simply don't want to think about her tonight. Can you make that happen?"

He pointed his wand through the open doorway that led to his study, the room where he kept an extensive personal store of potions. He murmured softly, "Accio Elixir to Induce Euphoria."

After a moment, a small clear vial with honey-colored solution inside flew to his hand. He pulled out the cork and held it out to Bellatrix. She swallowed heavily and looked skeptical.

"I don't want to act like a fool," she mumbled, but Voldemort insisted,

"You can either act a bit foolish, or you can perseverate over your mother. Or I can simply give you a potion to knock you out cold. Your choice."

Bellatrix put her lips into a flat line, and then she tipped the vial into her mouth. Before he could tell her to only drink half, she'd consumed the entire thing, and Voldemort shut his eyes as he contemplated what he had just done.

* * *

"Oh, My Lord. The moon shines so beautifully tonight, doesn't it?" Bellatrix pressed her hands flat against the windowpane, kneeling on the wooden bench and admiring every crevice on the moon's surface that she could make out. Something terrible had happened tonight, she knew. Her mother had died. For some reason, that did not bother her just now.

"Bella, go get cleaned up and try to sleep," she heard the Dark Lord say, sounding weary. She giggled, and then the giggle turned into uncontrollable laughter, and then she lost her balance and fell to the side, laughing until her stomach hurt. She felt herself being lifted up by strong arms, carried into the bathroom, and put back on her feet. The Dark Lord was stripping off her clothing, one item at a time, while she started to sing an old wizarding folk tune she'd learned as a child.

"I won a prize in Derry - a whole purse of ten gold Galleons, but I lost it to a hairy man who sold me a black stallion. Well, I thought it was a unicorn; I was terribly mistaken. For that horn I saw upon its head was nothing more than faking. I'll go back to Derry soon, and I'll earn my prize again. But I'll never buy a unicorn for Galleons counting ten."

Suddenly she was naked, and so was the Dark Lord, standing in front of her glaring sternly as she sang.

"I'm drunk, you know," he said then, and that triggered another man fit of laughter from Bellatrix. That was hilarious, for a reason she couldn't place. He was drunk, and she was giddy. What a strange state of affairs for the two of them. She pranced toward his standing shower and adjusted the taps on the wall, humming the old folk song as the water got hot. She stepped into the shower and peeked her head around the glass door.

"Are you coming?" she asked. Then, realising the dirty double entendre in her words, she dissolved into laughter again and tried fruitlessly to apologise to him.

He stepped into the shower after her and shut the door. He opened the jug of hair potion from the shelf in the wall, the sort that washed and conditioned hair, leaving it scented to one's personal tastes. He poured some out and tried to wash Bellatrix's hair, but his fingers got completely tangled in her wild mane. She stifled a laugh and helped him pull his hands out, noticing a look of mild embarrassment on his face as she skillfully washed and rinsed the hair she'd had all her life.

"Don't you worry, My Lord," she reassured him, stepping out of the hot water stream so he could have a turn. "My hair's been giving everybody trouble for ages. Oh! Do you remember last year, after you'd exiled me and then you called me back into service, and I showed up with straight hair? You and Rodolphus and Rabastan and Lucius and Abraxas were all so surprised! You were all very surprised by my straight hair, and -"

"Do shut up, Bella," Voldemort said firmly, and he silenced her with a kiss. Suddenly Bellatrix felt less giddy and more genuinely happy. His kiss was deep and warm and delicious. He pulled her close and fumbled for a bar of soap as he kissed her. Then his hands were lathering suds all around her body and his, and they were being rinsed by the water, and still he kissed her. When he finally let her go, Bellatrix swayed a bit where stood and whispered,

"Bloody hell, My Lord. You know how to get a girl wet in more ways than one."

"Giving you that potion was quite possibly the worst idea I've had in quite some time," Voldemort snapped. He dragged his fingers through his own hair as he rinsed out the cleansing potion, and he stepped out of the water. Bellatrix took his place gratefully, letting the hot water soothe and calm her as she tried to temper her bubbly euphoria.

"It was the damned whiskey is what it was," Voldemort was saying. "If I hadn't… If I weren't already drunk, I'd have known better than to give you that. Not tonight. It's off, you understand?"

She didn't, but she nodded anyway. She glanced down and saw that his cock was completely soft, so rather boldly and very much on instinct, she reached out and began to touch him there.

"Bella…" His voice was half-scolding and half-pleading. Bellatrix shut off the taps, heard him mumbling drying spells over the both of them, and she resumed her attempts to arouse him. He hissed breath out through his teeth and said far more tightly, "Bella."

"Yes, My Lord?" she asked with a grin, feeling happier than ever as he came to life in her hands. He shut his eyes and shook his head, swearing under his breath and seeming furious with himself. It didn't help, apparently, when Bellatrix kissed his sternum, nor when she reached up and cupped his jaw in her hand.

"Bella!" he growled, a twinge of anger (or was it regret?) in his voice.

"Yes, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked again, this time daring to smirk up at him.

Suddenly she was being hoisted upward, being told in a voice that left no room for argument to wrap her legs and arms about him. She did, clinging to the Dark Lord as though she were a little child. He walked out of the bathroom and hurried over to his bed, plopping Bellatrix down onto her back and moving quickly to hover over her.

"Ohhh, yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded firmly. "Please, please fuck me."

She so rarely used such vulgar language, least of all with him. His eyes flashed, a faint hint of ruby red coming through the darkness, and he turned her over roughly until she was on her stomach. He spanked her backside with a slap that resounded through the bedroom.

"Don't you dare speak like that to me," he said, using the slightest hint of a teasing tone. Bellatrix giggled against the pillow as another smackcrashed against her backside. She finally stifled her laughter long enough to plead,

"My Lord, I beg you to put your almighty staff inside my unworthy body, to plunder me as though I am merely an object, to claim me as yours as you've done so many times before. Please, please, please, My Lord."

She felt the tip of his cock at her sodden entrance, and she squirmed backward, trying hard to get him inside of her. He seemed to hesitate, and she looked over her shoulder with a curious smile.

"My Lord? Do I not please you?"

"Bellatrix," he said, sounding tormented, "I've had more than enough whiskey to know I'm not exactly in my right mind. And you… you are so far from your right mind you've no idea where it went."

She laughed so hard then that she coughed, and when she finally quieted down, she smiled up at him and said, "That was very funny, My Lord. You're very good at jokes. Such a funny, clever, powerful, handsome -"

"Accio Dreamless Sleep," the Dark Lord said, interrupting her. He pointed his wand over his shoulder, and another small vial came soaring from his potions stores. Bellatrix rolled over and moved up onto her knees before him. As he unscrewed the lid from the little bottle, he said,

"Here. This is what I ought to have given you. Not some silly happiness potion. Here, Bella. Open your mouth."

"This is hardly the first time you've told me to do that!" Bellatrix laughed with a pointed stare. But when she saw the scowl on the Dark Lord's face, she parted her lips and tipped her head back a bit. He used the dropper inside the lid and counted out ten drops of the potion before putting it in the drawer of the bedside table. He climbed off the bed and wordlessly moved over to his wardrobe.

Bellatrix felt better than she'd ever felt in her entire life. She was drowsy and peaceful, but also happy. She sighed as she studied the Dark Lord's naked figure - his sinewy back and his strong, lean legs - whilst he pulled clothing from his wardrobe. He pulled on a full matching set of black flannel pyjamas, and he had something white bundled in his hand when he walked back to the bed. He held it out to Bellatrix, and she thanked him profusely as she took the bundle and studied it.

It was one of his shirts, a loose-fitting white cotton shirt that tied at the neck and was worn under robes. But he was so much taller than Bella that it nearly his her knees once she'd pulled it on.

She was getting more tired by the moment, so it was very good indeed that the Dark Lord pulled his blankets back and tucked her in to sleep. He settled beside her and sighed very deeply. She could still smell the whiskey on him, but for some reason it was comforting. Why would she need comforting, Bellatrix wondered? Then she suddenly remembered that her mother had died tonight, and the Elixir to Induce Euphoria was overwhelmed by her profound sadness.

"She's dead, My Lord," Bellatrix said in a very tired voice. "My mother. She'd gone."

"I know," she heard him say, and then she felt herself being pulled against his body, wrapped in his arms as though he meant to protect her. Bellatrix's voice was a garbled mumble even to her own ears as she rambled at him.

"One time, when I was nine and Cissy was five, we found two kittens near our house. I wanted… I wanted to kill them, to practise. It wouldn't have worked, of course, because… because nine-year-olds don't have wands and can't cast Killing Curses. So I suggested we drown them… but then Cissy began to cry so terribly, and our mother… she said I would turn out to be a menace to society."

Voldemort snorted a little laugh beside her, and his voice sounded very far away as he said, "A menace to society. Yes. I should think you've become that and more, Bella."

"Anyway…" Bellatrix continued, snuggling more tightly against him, "Mummy said I wasn't allowed to kill the kittens. She said I had to raise one, and Cissy the other, and if mine died I'd be punished terribly."

"I presume you went on to take the thing to Hogwarts as your familiar?" Voldemort prompted, his own voice now sounding fatigued. Bellatrix shook her head against his chest.

"No. Cissy took hers to school. Kept it for years. I left mine outside on a bitterly cold winter's day and forgot all about it. Poor wee thing was dead the next morning when Mummy found it."

"And were you punished?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded against him.

"Yes. She made me go fetch my own switch from the willow tree outside. She did it by hand. I could hardly sit for a week."

He said nothing, but his heart accelerated a bit as if he were remembering something from his own life. Or perhaps he just didn't like Bellatrix's story. Either way, he said nothing for a very long time, until Bellatrix was nearly asleep. Finally he murmured,

"Your mother is dead and gone, Bella. But I'm here."

"I know, My Lord," she said, yawning as she nodded. "I know."

* * *

**June 1978**

**Godric's Hollow**

"We shouldn't be here," Lucius Malfoy fretted, even as he clung tightly to Narcissa's hand. He looked around the little town centre as they approached the graveyard, and he said furtively, "This is a wizarding town. Who knows what enemies we have peering out of windows?"

"The Dark Lord knows," Bellatrix said sharply, prompting Lucius to turn around. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "I don't think he would let this event happen if he had real reason to believe we'd be ambushed." From beside her, Rodolphus gave Bellatrix a worried look and said,

"I agree with Lucius, I'm afraid. The Dark Lord isn't here. I fully respect the need to bury your mother, Bellatrix, but perhaps a different -"

"Her plot is here. Both the Rosiers and Blacks bury family members here. Just because the Lestrange and Malfoy families bury their dead in their own gardens does not mean…" She trailed off when she saw the way Narcissa started crying afresh, and she cleared her throat before saying tightly, "In any case, if enemies dare come to the burial, we'll fight them. That's the way of war, isn't it?"

"Let's just go, Bella," Narcissa pleaded. "Daddy's having a hard enough time having lost Mummy. He also wishes that Andro-"

"Don't speak of her," Bellatrix hissed, shaking her head. "It's just you and I now, Narcissa, as it's been for years. Daddy will be fine with enough time."

"I wish I could detach myself so thoroughly from my emotions the way you do, Bella," Narcissa moaned helplessly, holding Lucius more tightly as they turned and walked again toward the graveyard. Bellatrix walked beside Rodolphus as they followed, and she said in a low voice to him,

"You and Rabastan were in Wales last night. What came of it?"

"Nothing, really," Rodolphus admitted. "It was a false lead."

"Well, who gave you the false lead?" Bellatrix asked, looking over to him with an angry glare. Rodolphus sighed and said,

"It wasn't deliberate. Severus Snape overheard a conversation in Diagon Alley and relayed the information directly to the Dark Lord. It wound up being a decoy conversation, probably with the intent of planting misinformation among our ranks."

"Hmph," Bellatrix huffed, shaking her head. "I still don't trust that boy."

"We'll see what he makes of himself," Rodolphus said, sounding just as skeptical of Snape as Bellatrix was.

She did hold his hand briefly during the burial, when her father spoke about how dearly he loved Druella and how much he would miss her. Bellatrix stepped forward then; she'd told her father she would lower her mother's casket into the earth. It seemed that was for the best, because Cygnus was in no state now to do it himself. He wrapped Narcissa up in his arms as Bellatrix raised her wand. She sniffed lightly and levitated the casket, guiding it carefully into the ground. Those assembled raised their wands with glowing lights that barely showed against the cloudy afternoon sky. Bellatrix covered the casket with soil and heard her Uncle Orion say to all those assembled,

"The Black and Rosier families would be honoured if you would all join us at the agreed-upon location for a memorial service."

He didn't dare speak the name of the place aloud, not in these days of warfare. Everyone Disapparated, one by one, and they reassembled at the ancestral Rosier family home in Yorkshire. It was a dreary place, a dank and lonely home on a barren moor. Bellatrix spent a few hours quietly accepting condolences from people she saw all the time among the ranks of Death Eaters, as well as extended family members she hadn't seen in a great long while. Eventually, she made her way to Cygnus Black III and said,

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I wish I could make you happy again."

"She was far too young, Bellatrix," Cygnus bemoaned. "There's something terribly off about how thoroughly the illness destroyed her organs, the way the healers couldn't properly diagnose or fix her. I can't help feeling a lack of trust in all this, as though something far more sinister than natural disease was at play."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and sipped from her cup of elf-made wine. "You think someone killed Mummy?"

Cygnus shrugged sadly and shook his head. "I've no idea. No. Probably not. I'm just… I'm mourning, Bellatrix. So is your sister. So is your grandmother; she's lost her own daughter."

Bellatrix glanced over to old Giselle Rosier, her maternal grandmother who was usually an unapproachable grouch. Today she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and appeared utterly broken. Bellatrix suddenly realised that she seemed to be feeling so much less sadness than everyone else here. Druella Black had been her own mother. Naturally, Bellatrix felt a swirl of negative emotions at Druella's death, but nothing approaching the profound grief she perceived from the others.

"Is there something wrong with me, Daddy?" Bellatrix whispered, turning back to Cygnus as she admitted, "I can't lie and say I'm going to miss her."

Cygnus frowned deeply, his eyes watering a bit as he hissed, "If you're not properly aggrieved over your own mother's death, then… yes, Bellatrix, there is probably something very wrong with you."

Bellatrix pinched her lips and muttered a half-hearted apology to her father. She crossed her arms and drummed her fingertips on her elbows. She wished the Dark Lord had come, but of course she knew why he hadn't. Only a third of the people here had explicitly pledged support for the Dark Lord. Sirius and Andromeda had been wiped from the Black family entirely because of their traitorous sympathies. Just last month, they'd executed Melvin Shacklebolt when it was discovered he was a spy for Dumbledore. Bellatrix had, at her master's command, spent three days solid torturing Melvin and ensuring that the body they delivered to the Order of the Phoenix was mutilated and ruined. But that event had injected a bit of paranoia into their movement. It was impossible to say with any certainty that this funeral had no one at all present who was hostile to the Dark Lord. And so he would not come, and Bellatrix could scarcely blame him.

It was with immense surprise, then, when a half hour later she whirled round from a tactical conversation with Rodolphus to see Lord Voldemort walking into the room.

She had felt him, somehow, just a moment before he'd come in. He strode wordlessly to Cygnus Black III, ignoring the bows and curtsies as he passed through the space. Cygnus looked shocked and tried to stammer out what an honour it was to have his lord present. Voldemort cut him off and said smoothly,

"My most heartfelt condolences on the loss of your wife, Cygnus. It is a terrible tragedy indeed." Then he turned over his shoulder and eyed Bellatrix for a moment. He said to Cygnus, "I'm afraid I have need of your eldest daughter just now. My apologies for the terrible timing."

Cygnus' grey brows furrowed with confusion, but he nodded and said, "Of… of course, My Lord. Bellatrix." He gestured for Bellatrix to come, and she did, moving briskly across the silent room to stand at Voldemort's side. Her black mourning gown was taffeta and lace and would be difficult in battle, Bellatrix thought distantly. That must be why he'd come; there was someone to capture or some battle to fight, and he needed her skills. Voldemort held his forearm out, and Bellatrix swallowed heavily as she threaded her arm with his.

"I'm sorry I have to go, Daddy," she said to Cygnus, who shrugged and looked bewildered.

"But you must go, of course," he said, more to the Dark Lord than to his daughter. "You've a duty to fulfill. Go."

Voldemort nodded his head at Cygnus and glided so quickly from the room that Bellatrix had difficulty keeping up with him in her formal gown. She had high heels on, and she wondered absently what spell to use to change them into flats once they got where they were going.

"Your shoes won't matter," Voldemort murmured from beside her, and Bellatrix frowned up at him in alarm. Once they were out on the lawn in front of the Rosier home, she dared to ask,

"My Lord, if you had need of me, why did you not just summon me through my Mark?"

"I don't need to explain anything I do to you, Bellatrix," he snapped, but then he breathed deeply and said down to her in a more controlled tone, "I wanted to come get you myself, so I did. Any more questions?"

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix shook her head vehemently.

"Good. Let's go." Voldemort took hold of Bellatrix's hand, and before she could blink, her body was being pinched and hurtled through the void. She came to on a rainy street. She crashed to the ground, unprepared for their sudden appearance, and her hands and skirts scraped on the pavement. Someone was yanking her up to stand then, and Bellatrix found herself on a lonely country road. This wasn't Yorkshire; it was somewhere else that Bellatrix did not recognise. There was a squat brick home, two storeys with red shutters and a matching red door. Bellatrix knew by the lack of garage or automobiles that it was a wizarding home.

"Who lives here?" she asked carefully, and Voldemort glared at the house as he said in a monotone,

"Sabine Yaxley was offered a very substantial monetary reward, along with shelter, by the Order of the Phoenix."

"What would they want with her?" Bellatrix demanded a bit too crossly. "She's useless. She doesn't have any valuable knowledge, she isn't a Death Eater…"

"She has your husband's bastard," Voldemort nodded, and he stared down at Bellatrix, seeming to study her expression rather than her mind. Bellatrix shrugged and tried to sound calm as she said,

"And? What use is that creature to the Order of the Phoenix?"

"They wanted her to spy on you, to ask Rodolphus questions about you," Voldemort informed her. Bellatrix's mind swirled with questions. How did the Dark Lord know all of this? How was Sabine Yaxley meant to get information from Rodolphus when all he did was send her money for the -

"He visits her," Voldemort said simply. "Regularly."

Bellatrix felt her chest crumple a bit, and she shut her eyes as she shook with anger. She was angry with Rodolphus, with herself, with Sabine, with the damned little urchin.

"Did she take their offer, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort sighed as he admitted,

"Of that, I can not be entirely certain. She came to me and confessed that they'd tried to recruit her. As far as I can tell, she is loyal to our cause. Just the same… I think she and the child pose a threat. They should be eliminated."

Bellatrix suddenly understood. For some reason, the hurt and sadness that had been noticeably absent at her mother's funeral boiled up at once within her. She raked her sopping wet curls from her face and asked her master,

"You mean to kill them both, then?"

"No." Voldemort shook his head and gave Bellatrix a meaningful stare. "I want you to do it."

Bellatrix gnawed on her bottom lip and nodded. "Thank you, My Lord."

She walked up toward the house, the house where her husband's mistress and his bastard lived, the house where her husband came to give his love to a woman that was not Bellatrix. She knocked firmly on the door, three times, and then she glanced over her shoulder to where Lord Voldemort stood on the rainy street. He watched, his face blank, and Bellatrix heard the door creak open. She turned back to the threshold and saw her husband's features on the young girl in the corridor. The witch in the doorway said quietly,

"Oh, Bellatrix. Please, no…"

Bellatrix raised her wand and said with utter confidence, "Avada Kedavra."

* * *

**June 1978**

**Capella Cottage, Scottish Highlands**

He barely managed to shut the door behind them before he'd slammed her up against the plaster wall in the entryway. His fingers flew down the front of her ruined mourning gown, finally just tearing at the buttons until the dress burst open. Bellatrix gasped and pawed helplessly at the tiny buttons of Voldemort's tunic. She didn't dare ruin his clothes, he knew. Because she was a good girl, such a good and loyal girl that always listened, and -

"Bloody hell," he hissed, angry at the way his wet clothing clung to his skin as he tried to strip himself. He finally Banished all their clothes into a heap in the corner. He hoisted Bellatrix up against the whitewashed wall, urging her to wrap her legs and arms around him as he kissed her ferociously.

She'd done so well handling Sabine Yaxley and the girl, Eudora. Voldemort had pulled her away from her mother's funeral because rest of the Yaxley family was on holiday in Spain. He'd explained the circumstances and told her to kill her husband's child and mistress. And Bellatrix had sounded more sure of herself in casting those Killing Curses than she'd ever sounded before. Voldemort had not expected to become aroused and hungry, standing there in the rainy street, but he had. There was something powerfully alluring about the way Bellatrix so elegantly eliminated her foes and Vanished their bodies into non-being. There was something that went far beyond 'attractive' in the way she walked back out to him, her hair and her gown soaked through, her face proud and satisfied.

"Bella," he mumbled against her lips, "Here or upstairs? Choose quickly."

She seemed confused at having been given the option, so Voldemort let out a low, rumbling laugh and said, "Here, then."

He put the tip of his cock at her entrance and pulled her down a bit, driving himself into her and feeling that she was already very wet and very ready. He groaned at the feel of her, tight and willing around him the same way she'd been for a decade. He pumped himself into her, nearly losing himself entirely in the feel of her breasts smashed against his chest, the feel of her ankles crossed behind his back, the way her arms held fast to him like she was drowning.

Just a few days earlier, he'd refrained from taking her because they had both been intoxicated and her mother was freshly dead. Today, the day of her mother's funeral, he held nothing back. He pounded her against the wall, eliciting constant moaning and a few desperate cries from her. He silenced one shriek before it could take flight in the air by crushing her mouth with his. When she came, her arms and legs tensed around him and the snug embrace of her womanhood clamped erratically. That was all it took for the Dark Lord, and he spilled himself into her with a few grunts and a mighty push back against the wall.

A few moments later they both stood naked in the entryway, Bellatrix's cheeks still pink and her heart still racing. She shut her eyes and said carefully,

"My Lord, I can not possibly express the gratitude that I -"

"Stop." He shook his head, and Bellatrix looked confused. Voldemort blinked a few times and barely recognised his own voice as he said sharply, "Don't talk to me like that. Not after what we just… you speak to me like you hardly know me. You speak to me just like the rest of them. Don't do that."

Bellatrix looked almost frightened, her eyes going wide and her lower lip trembling. "I promise, My Lord, that I am only trying to treat you with the respect and… deference that you are due as my lord and master."

"I'm more than that, though, aren't I?" he demanded. "At least to you."

There was something so very empty in the way the others followed him. They knew absolutely nothing about him as a man, which was not only good but necessary, and yet it created a situation in which Voldemort had no actual friends. Not that he'd ever wanted any actual friends, nor a wife, nor a child. Such close relationships were asking for trouble. But for some very strange reason, he needed to hear Bellatrix affirm that what they had was categorically different than what Voldemort had with the others.

"Of course you're more than that, My Lord," Bellatrix mumbled, lowering her eyes and face to the floorboards as if she were ashamed to see him naked. Abruptly angry at that, Voldemort used nonverbal, wandless magic to pull her face back up.

"Look at me," he snarled, and Bellatrix's face suddenly was far more peaceful than it had been before.

"You are the Dark Lord, and I shall always obey you," she whispered, "but I also love you with all that I am. Once upon a time you told me that you did not want me to love you as a dog loves its master. And while I shall always be your most loyal servant, My Lord, the other love I bear you is not the kind a dog bears for its master."

Voldemort stepped closer to her then, feeling very curious now at just what it meant for a human to so deeply love another.

"Describe it," he instructed her tersely. "Tell me how you love me."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and looked dizzy. "I love you… because you knew from the very beginning that my marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement. I love you for putting an emerald finger on my ring, for putting a child inside of me and not scolding me when I lost it. I love the way you kiss me… sometimes gently, other times so that it hurts. I love…"

She opened her eyes and reached up to hold his jaw in her hand. Her wide eyes searched his, and Voldemort struggled mightily to keep his face steady. Bellatrix nodded and said,

"I love that you didn't kill Sabine Yaxley and her daughter yourself. You knew that I would much rather attend to that task than to attend my own mother's funeral. You know the worst parts of me, the parts that even my own father says are wrong, and you like them. You're the only one, My Lord, who has ever looked my soul straight in the eye and not been frightened or repulsed."

She stroked at his chest a bit, making him shiver a little, and she leaned forward to kiss his skin there. She rested her head against his sternum and whispered,

"I am a wicked person, I think, but you embraced all of me. And you… you are so very powerful in every way. And so I can not help but love you, in the way that women fall in love with men."

"Bella." Voldemort pulled her back by her shoulders, and instantly on her face he read abject terror that he would reject her the way he'd done in Penzance. But he shook his head and whispered, "No. Not this time. I've given up on it."

She knew what he meant. He'd given up on cutting her out of his life. He'd given up on pretending she was just another Death Eater, or his personal whore. She knew exactly what he meant, and when he kissed her, she sighed and scratched gently at his scalp.

He drank her in and wondered distantly if he loved her. The things she'd described were sensations he knew well. He adored her skill, her ruthlessness, her actual personality. He was very fond of the feel of her curled up against him when she slept, the way she liked to put her head where she could hear his heartbeat. He very much enjoyed the way she stared at him, with reverence beyond measure. And he knew that if she died in battle, it would not be easy for him to recover quickly.

Was that love? Was it possible, even in the slightest degree, that he was in love with her?

No, he thought, Banishing that silly thought straight into the corner with their clothes. He snaked his arms around Bellatrix and held her close against him, staring at the wall where he'd just taken her.

No, he thought again, shutting his eyes and smelling the way the rain mingled with lavender in Bellatrix's hair. No, I could never love her or anyone else. Not ever. What a stupid, childish thought.

* * *

**September 1979**

**Castle Lestrange**

Something felt significantly less merry about turning twenty-eight than any age that had come before. Bellatrix swigged down her third glass of wine and glanced around the ballroom of Castle Lestrange, where some friends and family had gathered for a little birthday fete in her honour. For all Rodolphus' shortcomings, he'd never once failed to throw a proper party for Bellatrix's birthday. Still, she felt old tonight for the first time ever, and the answer seemed to be wine.

Narcissa walked up toward Bellatrix, her face oddly happy. Bellatrix picked up two more chalices of wine and handed one to her sister, murmuring, "Bottoms up, Cissy."

"Bella." Narcissa shook her head and handed the glass of wine back to her sister. Bellatrix frowned, looking down at the two glasses of wine in her hands and then back up to Narcissa. Her mouth fell open as she put the pieces together - the barely-contained glee, the refusal of alcohol…

"You're pregnant," Bellatrix whispered, her voice devoid of emotion. Narcissa's eyes leaked at once as her happy tears burst forth, and she covered her mouth as she giggled frantically.

"Don't get too excited; it's still so very early," she said, more to herself than to Bellatrix. She wiped carefully at her eyes so as not to smudge her makeup, and she said, "The test was just positive this morning. I took four more, of course. All positive."

Bellatrix set the glasses of wine down and forced a look of happiness onto her face. "Oh, Cissy," she said softly, hugging her sister and then pulling back. "This news is the very best birthday gift you could have ever given me."

That wasn't true, of course. Bellatrix's stomach churned with ugly envy at the way Narcissa had conceived a child with the man she loved. But she kept on smiling as Narcissa whispered furtively,

"After all the years of potions, of careful timing… I went to the Dark Lord myself, and he used a long series of spells… words I didn't recognise, spells that made me bleed terribly for a few days. I didn't ask questions; I just kept trying with Lucius. And I won't ask any questions now. I just want my baby, Bella."

She touched her hand to her flat stomach and shut her eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Bellatrix glanced over Narcissa's shoulder to where the Dark Lord appeared to be having a very serious conversation with Rabastan Lestrange and Branden Avery. He seemed to sense her eyes on him, for his gaze flicked over to her for a half second.

"I am so, so happy for you," Bellatrix said again to Narcissa, finally feeling halfway sincere about it. Narcissa had wanted this for a very long time. Bellatrix thought of the baby Lucius Malfoy had put into Edith Bulstrode, and she wondered if Narcissa's child would resemble that one.

"Thank you, Bella. And… happy birthday." Narcissa smiled again at Bellatrix just as Lucius sidled up alongside them. He took Narcissa's hand in his, and she murmured to him, "I've told her."

Lucius smirked at Bellatrix, raising Narcissa's hand to kiss it.

"Congratulations, Lucius," Bellatrix said, nodding. Lucius bowed his head and then turned to Narcissa,

"My beautiful bride… will you dance with me?"

"Of course I will!" Narcissa grinned, and in that moment Bellatrix saw the unparalleled affection between them that had wounded her the night of their wedding all those years before. She watched Narcissa and Lucius walk out onto the dance floor and sweep one another into a two-step. Bellatrix closed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she'd danced with the Dark Lord. It had been some time now. They'd seen one another regularly, for hurried physical relations or logistical meetings. The war was grating on them all now; they were all weary, and yet the action grew by the day. The Dark Lord had seemed downright grumpy as of late, and the last time he'd taken Bellatrix, he'd barked at her to leave straight away.

Bellatrix picked up one of the chalices of wine and sipped it as quickly as she could without getting sick. Finally, emboldened by the alcohol, she walked with unsteady steps toward her husband, who stood on his own eating cake from a small plate.

"Dolph, will you dance with me?" Bellatrix asked without pretense once she'd reached him. Rodolphus looked around them and frowned, setting his plate of cake down as he mumbled,

"You're very drunk, Bellatrix. I think that perhaps -"

"Fine. If I'm too drunk to dance, then just kiss me." Bellatrix folded her arms over her chest and shot him a petulant look. The room swayed a bit, or perhaps she did, but she almost lost her balance. Rodolphus swept an arm around her waist before she could fall, and Bellatrix took the opportunity to reach her hands up and stroke his clean-shaven cheeks with her thumbs.

"You know I can't kiss you," he said, and she felt his cheeks go hot beneath her hands. His eyes, the colour of caramel, pleaded silently with her as he whispered, "You know I've got strict instructions not to -"

"Oh, I'm quite sure that doesn't apply to kissing," Bellatrix insisted, rolling her eyes. She was tired of playing around, so she asked plainly, "Are you embarrassed to kiss your own wife at her birthday party?"

"I'm not embarrassed; I'm afraid," Rodolphus hissed, but Bellatrix wouldn't drop the subject. She thought distantly of Sabine Yaxley, of the child called Eudora, and she started speaking without thinking.

"Do you love me?" she asked, looking him right in the eye. Rodolphus seemed almost wounded, and his fingers twitched where they held onto her.

"Please don't do this to me," he mumbled, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. "Bellatrix, please don't -"

"No, of course you don't love me. What a silly idea." Bellatrix leaned up and planted one delicate kiss on his lips as she continued, "You loved Sabine Yaxley, and I understood, because our marriage was an arrangement, and the arrangement did not include a clause about loving one another."

"Bellatrix. Please." Rodolphus sounded almost desperate, his breath warm against her lips as he murmured, "Yes, of course I love you. I've loved you since… I had a massive crush on you from fourth year on at bloody Hogwarts, you know. You're beautiful. You're talented."

She pulled back a little, surprised by the way he was talking to her. For once, she felt sorry for him. She wasn't sorry that Sabine Yaxley and the bastard girl were dead, of course, but a little corner of her mind felt sorry for her husband. She licked her bottom lip and opened her mouth to say something pithy, but Rodolphus barrelled onward as he pulled her closer.

"You're my wife, and I have always felt honoured to be your husband. Don't you suppose I've wanted you in my bed every night since we married? Don't you suppose I want to kiss you? But I'm not allowed, am I?"

"Well," Bellatrix said bravely, "He never told me I was forbidden from kissing you, so…"

She leaned up again and pulled his face down to meet her halfway. They'd kissed many times, usually little pecks on the cheek or very rarely a firm but distant kiss on the lips. This was different; Bellatrix pushed her tongue between his lips and felt the vibration of his surprised grunt. His hands clenched around her and he deepened the kiss for a few seconds. For the very first time, Bellatrix felt a spark of something with Rodolphus, and it was with serious hesitation that she finally let him pull her backward from him.

"He'll kill me for this," Rodolphus predicted, casting his eyes to the ground. He sounded irritated then, and he said, "He'll punish me for kissing my own wife. Bellatrix, please don't ever put me in this position again."

"I'm sorry," Bellatrix mumbled, and she meant it. She wasn't sure precisely what had just happened, but it was strange and unfamiliar in a rather uncomfortable way. She cleared her throat and said carefully, "Regina Shacklebolt is here. She was one of yours, I think… in the repopulation programme. Perhaps you ought to see if she might like to talk for a while."

Rodolphus stared at her for one beat too long, and Bellatrix squirmed a bit under his sorrowful gaze. Finally, he nodded and gulped hard, and he said, "Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

He walked away from her, and she did not watch him go. Instead she wondered who had seen the way they kissed, and she wished more than ever that she had the power of Legilimency. Bellatrix saw Mawky walking by, and she snapped at the house-elf in a frustrated voice, "Mawky, bring me some firewhisky."

"That will not be necessary," said a smooth voice. Lord Voldemort waved Mawky away as he approached Bellatrix, and once he'd reached her, he said, "I think you've had more than enough to drink. And more than enough of something else."

He took hold of her elbow and guided her toward a secluded nook in the ballroom. He positioned them in the shadows, just out of sight of the party guests, and he snarled down at her,

"Why did you do that?"

Bellatrix blinked, the wine feeling heavy in her veins as she shrugged and said softly, "I was just kissing my husband, My Lord. I'm sorry if I -"

"Yes, you did offend me. Yes, I am angry," he said, cutting her off. Bellatrix frowned and slurred,

"My Lord, I was just jealous of Narcissa being pregnant, and I -"

"Jealous?" he repeated incredulously. He shook his head and scoffed. "Jealous of what? Jealous that she gets to stay home and swell up with child, and then birth the thing and raise it? You're not a damned broodmare, Bellatrix; you're a soldier."

"I know, but I can't help feeling envious," Bellatrix admitted. She suddenly remembered the sight of the Dark Lord's face, years earlier, when he'd come into her rooms after she'd lost his heir.

"You were never meant to bear that child!" he insisted in a low tone. "You were meant to fight, and you -"

"I have been fighting, My Lord, with all my might," Bellatrix said, realising too late that she'd interrupted him. His cheeks went pink and his eyes flashed red, and his voice was deathly serious as he asked calmly,

"Just who exactly do you think you are, Madam Lestrange? I ought to have to you writhing on the floor under a Cruciatus Curse, here in front of all your guests on your birthday. Don't you dare think I wouldn't do it."

Bellatrix was socked by a momentary clarity in her mind, and she shook her head and whispered desperately, "I don't doubt it, My Lord. I… I was very, and I'm very sorry."

"You have sinned against me, Bellatrix, and there will be severe consequences for your actions. Go back to your rooms at once and wait for me to come and punish you. It will not be pretty."

Bellatrix nodded, dread taking her over as she thought of all the ways he could break her, both physically and mentally. But she silently obeyed him, slipping out the far door of the ballroom. When she was in the corridor, she paused for a brief moment as she heard the Dark Lord's slightly amplified voice say,

"My friends… it has been good to make merry in light of the war we fight day after day. But we must always be ready for the next battle, and so this celebration, like all good things, must come to an end. Bid one another farewell and go to your homes. Rest. War does not pause for birthdays."

Bellatrix felt an awful crumpling feeling in her chest, and she moved quickly through the corridors toward her rooms.

* * *

It should not have bothered him.

It should have been utterly unsurprising and not at all troublesome to see a married couple kissing one another at the wife's birthday party. But it did bother him, so much so that he had been tempted to blast out the windows in the ballroom and had seriously considered killing poor Rodolphus Lestrange. The young man was loyal, as loyal as any follower besides Bellatrix could possibly be. Voldemort had sensed the way Rodolphus had tried to convince Bellatrix not to kiss him. Then Voldemort had sensed the intense physical reactions husband and wife had experienced. He'd gone from jealous to enraged, back to jealous, then back to rage. It was all a blur now, as he walked quickly toward Bellatrix's rooms. All he knew was that he had to punish her, to make sure she knew perfectly well that what she'd done was unacceptable.

He flung the door to her rooms open with a slash of his wand. It slammed against the wall, visibly startling Bellatrix where she stood in the middle of the rug with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Expelliarmus." Voldemort caught Bellatrix's wand after it soared from a pocket inside the skirt of her formal gown. Bellatrix looked shocked that he'd Disarmed her, that he had thought she would use her wand against him. He hadn't thought that, of course. He knew she'd fully submit, but taking her wand from her was important just now.

"You wretched, terrible woman," Voldemort said, sending the door banging shut behind him as he walked slowly toward Bellatrix. Then he asked her the same thing he had in the ballroom, this time with far more venom. "Who do you think you are?"

"M-My Lord… I am so very sorry for… of course I shouldn't have…" Bellatrix seemed unable to speak properly, partially because she was drunk and partially because she was utterly terrified. She hung her head and finally said in a defeated voice, "I beg you to just kill me, My Lord. I would much rather be dead than to have you hate me."

Voldemort's chest physically hurt at that, which annoyed him. He had spent hours earlier in the day crafting the final batch of Inferi to guard his Horcrux. Creating Inferi was ancient, powerful magic that drained even the most skilled practitioner. He was tired now, and he shut his eyes for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he said quietly, and when it did not come out as assertively as he preferred, he opened his eyes and yelled at Bellatrix, "I am Lord Voldemort! I am the greatest wizard who has ever lived, and you dare show me such… such disrespect? You awful little worm! Flipendo Duo!"

He hacked his wand toward Bellatrix, and a massive flurry of red sparks sent her soaring backward. Her body hit the wall hard and collapsed onto the ground with a sickening sort of crunch. She lifted her head up and then started to sob, her beautiful dark eyes pleading with him to either stop despising her or to extinguish her entirely. Voldemort's breath shook in his nostrils as he aimed his wand at her. He had to do it now, he knew. If he was ever going to eliminate the distracting, weakening effect she had on him, it had to be now. He swallowed hard and cast Bellatrix's very favourite spell.

"Crucio."

Her eyes went completely round where she lay on the rug as she processed the fact that he'd just cast the Cruciatus at her. But the curse came out weak and useless - a tiny web of frayed, dim red light that didn't completely encase Bellatrix. She jerked and screamed for a few seconds, and the sound of her screaming broke the curse entirely. Then she just lay on the ground in silence, face-down on the rug, and Voldemort stared at his wand.

It was hardly that he lacked the power to cast an effective Cruciatus Curse. He'd done it more times than he could count. The problem was that with torture and murder, one had to actually mean it for the spells to work properly. Just as his soul did not possess the ability to craft a Patronus, he was magically unable to torture or kill Bellatrix. He thought for a moment about trying again, but the fact that he even hesitated proved to him that it would not work.

"Get off the ground," he sneered at her, turning away and staring out the window. He could see in the reflection of the glass that she was still lying face-down on the ground, sputtering and sobbing, and he screamed over his shoulder, "Get off the ground, Bella!"

She slowly heaved herself up, using the shelf along the wall where he'd flung her to wrench herself to her feet. Voldemort felt acutely nauseated, and he shut his eyes as he pointed his wand to his chest and thought, 'statarius.'

The spell steadied him, took away the dizzy nausea, but a pit of dread remained in his abdomen. He turned round to see how Bellatrix's lipstick had smeared, how her hair was in shambles, and he muttered sarcastically,

"Happy birthday, Madam Lestrange."

Without another word, he walked briskly from her room, leaving the door open behind him as he strode away. Knowing she was watching his back, he Disapparated mid-stride, vanishing from the forsaken castle she shared with her husband.

* * *

**October 1979**

**Malfoy Manor**

"Bellatrix, try not to look as though someone's just given you a death sentence, will you?" Rodolphus scowled his disapproval at Bellatrix as they climbed the stairs. Bellatrix didn't answer. She'd only come because they had a standing dinner night each month with Lucius and Narcissa so that everyone could socialise outside the context of the war. Now, she felt as though her soul had caved in on itself, and it took all the effort she possessed just to climb the stairs and stand motionless and silent in the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor.

"Dolph… Bella..." Lucius Malfoy greeted each of them as Narcissa slowly followed down the double stairs into the foyer. Bellatrix gave Lucius no acknowledgment and just stared at her sister. Narcissa had been suffering only mild morning sickness and otherwise was quite well. That was what she'd said in a letter that had come to Castle Lestrange by owl three days earlier.

"Is she still…?" Bellatrix heard Lucius ask the open-ended question to Rodolphus, who just nodded once. Bellatrix knew what Lucius meant. Was she still depressed? Yes, of course she was. It had been over a month and she had not heard a single word from the Dark Lord. She'd been taken out of service, apparently. She did not dare write to him, or ask to meet with him, but this absence struck her to her core so much more powerfully than the one in Penzance had done. Bellatrix felt a giant empty hole where she supposed her heart was meant to be.

"Bella, you look so thin," Narcissa said worriedly, once she finally approached the group. She met Bellatrix's eyes and looked genuinely afraid as she asked, "Are you eating?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered, but Rodolphus rather angrily insisted,

"No. She hardly eats anything at all."

Narcissa pinched her lips and tried to diffuse the tension as she said, "Well. We've got a nice meal waiting upstairs. Come on, Bella."

The meal was not nice. It was very dull. The food was tasteless and the conversation was inane. Bellatrix spent the entire time staring, just as she had spent the entire last month. Ever since he'd left her standing in her chambers on her birthday, she'd barely spoken. She'd barely slept. And he had, as Rodolphus had rightfully pointed out, hardly eaten anything. Her hands shook with tired hunger and with grief. They shook so badly that her fork clattered against her plate when she tried to convince herself to put a piece of potato in her mouth. Bellatrix gave up and set her fork down, folding her hands in her lap.

"Well, Lucius and I are meant to be in Devon in fifteen minutes. We're meeting Avery and Rabastan there." Rodolphus took a sip of water; he and Lucius had kept from drinking since they had a battle to fight tonight.

"I hope it's nothing terribly dangerous," Narcissa fretted, and Lucius laughed quietly as two house-elves limped into the room and started clearing away dishes.

"Just some Mudbloods," Lucius reassured Narcissa. "Right now they're alive, and the Dark Lord would prefer that they were not."

He pulled himself up to stand and kissed Narcissa's forehead. She murmured to him to stay safe, and he winked as he and Rodolphus started toward the door of the dining-room.

"Bellatrix?" Rodolphus said cautiously, and she looked up and stared blankly at him. He sighed heavily and said, "I'll be home later, then."

"Goodbye," Bellatrix mumbled, about five seconds after the men had gone.

"Well, now that the boys are gone, we can actually chat properly, eh?" Narcissa said in a light tone. Bellatrix did not answer. Narcissa huffed with frustration and finally snapped, "Bella, look at me, please."

She did, turning her eyes to her sister and wondering if her body was perpetually suspended in honey, or if moving really just did take that much effort.

"Bella," Narcissa said firmly, "You made him angry. You made some stupid choices the night of your birthday. Do you honestly think he wants you absent from his ranks?"

"I have no idea," Bellatrix said, blinking slowly. Narcissa looked frustrated, dragging her slim fingers through her icy blonde hair where she sat opposite Bellatrix.

"Well, why don't you go and ask him for yourself, then?" Narcissa suggested, gesturing vaguely toward the door. Bellatrix's fingers trembled at the thought that he was here, in this very building, and yet he was a world away. She'd been able to feel him all the way to her bones, once upon a time.

"Bella? Bella!"

She blinked and realised Narcissa had been speaking to her. Bellatrix swallowed hard and said, "Sorry. What?"

"Go to his office. Please. I beg you. I can't stand seeing you like this." Narcissa's pale eyes watered with tears, and her voice cracked as she shook her head. "You're like a walking corpse, Bellatrix. Please. Please, just go to his office and beg his forgiveness. For me. Do it for me."

"He won't speak to me," Bellatrix predicted, but Narcissa had apparently had enough. She threw herself up from her chair and stomped around the table to where Bellatrix sat. She yanked Bellatrix up by her elbow and, despite Bellatrix's half-hearted efforts to swat her away, managed to convince her older sister to walk down the corridor. Outside the door to the Dark Lord's office, Narcissa released Bellatrix and quickly walked away.

Bellatrix watched her go, watched her climb a staircase that led up the level of the manor that she shared with Lucius. Bellatrix was left alone staring at the heavy wood of the Dark Lord's office door. She tried to breathe as she raised her fist and hesitantly knocked three times.

* * *

_Mr and Mrs Burke,_

_It was with great sorrow that I learned of the death of your daughter Horatia. She died fighting valiantly, and her service will not soon be forgotten._

_With gratitude and respect,_

_Lord Voldemort_

Voldemort signed the letter with a flourish of his quill and prepared to send it off by owl. But he was interrupted by three feeble knocks on his door. They didn't have the strong, crisp sound they once did, but they were hers just the same. Voldemort set down his quill and rose slowly from the chair at his desk. Ordinarily, he would bark at her to come in, but tonight something drew him to the door.

He hadn't seen her in a month, very much on purpose. The night of her birthday had left him tired and angry, and he had tried everything to whittle her out of his life. Nothing worked. Horatia Burke had died in battle because she was an incompetent fool that could have never dreamed of taking Bellatrix's place. And there was no woman in all the world that Voldemort considered worth the time, effort, and self-exposure involved in carnal relations.

No woman except for Bellatrix.

He'd spent many nights trying to convince himself that it was all for the best, that he was stronger without her, but he'd never managed to turn those thoughts into truth. Now he slowly opened the door to his office, and his stomach went cold when he saw her.

She was so thin that he thought she might blow away. She looked ill, gaunt and weary with no life in her eyes. She stared at him for a very long moment before she finally whispered,

"M-My Lord, I wonder if I might speak… if I might…"

Voldemort could tell there was no one else in the corridors nearby. He reached out and guided Bellatrix into his office, feeling how thin her back had become even through the heavy velvet of her dress. He closed the door and gestured vaguely toward the two armchairs before the fire.

"Sit," he said softly. Bellatrix did, and then she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees as she stared blankly into the fire.

"I have come, My Lord, to ask your permission to die, if I am no longer in your favour or service."

Voldemort's greying brows furrowed, and he tried hard not to snap at her as he said,

"No. You do not have my permission to die. You will be interrogating any prisoners that might be brought back from Devon. You will be executing them. And you will… for Merlin's sake, Bellatrix. Wake up!"

He nearly shouted those last two words, but all that happened was that she blinked quickly a few times as she looked from the fireplace up to his eyes. He fumed a bit where he stood, willing her to be her old self again, and he finally realised she needed to know the truth if that were to happen.

"I couldn't do it," he began, pacing in front of her chair and deciding she would just listen to him explain everything. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "You know that feeling, Bella, when you cast a Cruciatus Curse and it locks onto the victim? That dull throb in your head, that tightening in your chest? It's a good feeling, isn't it?"

He paused to look at her, and she nodded dolefully. Voldemort sniffed and resumed his pacing. He let out a long sigh and said,

"That didn't happen with you. The curse never really took hold. It couldn't, because I did not actually want to cast it. I am the most powerful wizard who has ever lived, and yet I fear that if I cast a Killing Curse at you right now, you'd wind up with a black eye at worst."

He stopped and leaned against the wall beside the fireplace, staring at his desk and murmuring,

"You made me jealous a meaningless man. I had never felt envy like that. I had never felt possessive of another human being like that. You asked Rodolphus if he loved you, and he so readily answered that he did. How does he know, I wonder? How could he possibly be so sure that what he feels for you is love? There is no chance that he thinks of you the same way I do. There is no chance that he appreciates…"

He trailed off, realising he was rambling and knowing he probably sounded quite mad to Bellatrix. But when he flicked his eyes down to her, she'd unfolded herself from the fetal position and was sitting more upright in her chair. Her wide eyes showed the tiniest glimmer of life, and so Voldemort licked his lips and stared right at her as he said firmly,

"It doesn't matter what Rodolphus Lestrange thinks of you. All that matters is that you're mine. So… go on. Ask me to forgive you for drunkenly pushing your tongue into his mouth. Ask me to forgive you for interrupting me and talking back to me in the ballroom that night. Ask me to forgive you for forcing my hand, for leaving me no choice but to punish you. Tell me you're sorry. Go ahead."

Bellatrix nodded and blinked. "I am sorry, My Lord. More… more sorry than I could ever say. And, while I selfishly beg your forgiveness for my own sake, I far more importantly beg it because you were offended by what I did, and I ought to know so much better. I do, now. I do know better. I love you, My Lord."

She said that last part very meekly, shrinking back in her chair as if she thought he would strike her for those words. But instead he impulsively reached for her wrists and pulled her up to stand, walking her to his desk and encouraging her to sit on its edge. The desk was high, and so Bellatrix was having trouble hoisting herself up. She was weaker than usual, Voldemort could tell. He frowned at that thought and seized her by the waist, effortlessly lifting her onto the edge of the desk. His hands started pushing up the velvet skirt of her dress, and he leaned down to touch his lips to hers.

"Please tell me what I must do," she begged in a furtive whisper, her hands holding desperately onto the front of his robes. "Tell me what to do so that you won't despise me anymore."

"You silly girl," he sighed, dragging his fingers up the inside of her leg and eliciting a low moan from her, "Don't you see that the entire problem is that no matter how hard I've tried all these years, I simply can't despise you?"

He kissed her again, far more deeply. He groaned against her mouth as his fingers pushed aside her knickers and stroked at her entrance. She was dry there, but within moments he could feel the dewy heat of her arousal. His fingers glided ever more smoothly the more wet she became, and she panted through her nostrils as her bony fingers clutched his robes. She started to tense as he caressed her velvety folds, and Voldemort pulled away from her mouth and slowed his fingers.

"You almost just finished, before I even began," he taunted her, but she did not answer. She couldn't, he knew. Judging by her quick breath, her pink cheeks, and her closed eyes, he'd just arrested a climax that was on the verge of happening. Voldemort dragged his tongue over her lips, making Bellatrix whimper, and he said, "You're not to finish until I tell you to do it."

"Oh, but My Lord," Bellatrix said in a shaky, helpless whisper, "I can't help it."

"Yes, you can." He pushed two fingers into her, then a third so that she squirmed and cried out. His thumb circled on her nub as he hooked and twisted his fingers inside of her. Bellatrix burrowed her head against his chest, which felt very good indeed. Voldemort kissed the top of her head as he felt her whole body constrict and tighten, and he murmured again, "Not yet."

"I can't… oh, My Lord, please," she begged, her hands grasping his robe so tightly he thought she might tear the fabric.

"Please what?" he teased her, feeling his cock strain almost painfully against his trousers.

"Please let me…" Bellatrix trailed off, rolling her hips a little against his hand.

"Let you what?" he pressed, and Bellatrix's scream of frustrated need was muffled by his tunic. Her breath was warm through the material, and he finally gave her a bit of mercy. He'd not had a choice about being merciful the month before; now he was entirely in control. He quickened his hand, rubbing with his thumb and pumping his fingers as he told her, "Go ahead. Show me how much you like it."

Within seconds, she was clamping around his fingers, her entire body going tense as a string about to snap. Then she collapsed against him, her breath slowing as he pulled his wet, sullied hand from her. He glanced downward to the bulge in his trousers and said to Bellatrix,

"Take it out."

She obeyed at once, her fingers shaking like the last leaves of autumn as she unbuttoned the placket of his trousers. She pulled his hard length out, and the feel of her hands on him again was so good that Voldemort had to stifle a moan. She helped him line everything up, and the moment he pushed into her, with her legs wrapped around his waist, he nearly lost control. It felt so very good. Warm and snug and welcoming, just like her body had been for over a decade.

"For Merlin's sake, Bellatrix," he snarled as he started to roll his hips, "You honestly thought I kept you away because I hated you."

She had her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he moved in and out. She shook her head and shrugged helplessly. "Wasn't that why?"

"No! No, you little fool. No." Voldemort was not going to last tonight, he could tell. Not without the help of a potion or spell. But he wasn't in the mood to drag things out. Instead he buried himself to the hilt inside of Bellatrix and pumped his seed into her, still somehow able to push into her mind and see the recent memory of her taking a contraceptive potion. That reassured him, and his climax felt much better after that.

Once he'd tucked himself away and she'd put her skirt to rights, he took her face in both his hands and kissed her gently for a moment.

"No, you beautiful, infuriating woman. It wasn't because I hated you. It was because I…" He wasn't sure what to say. He would never tell her that he loved her, because he was very certain he would never love anyone. But he wrenched his eyes shut as he said, "What I feel toward you, Bella, is quite the opposite of hatred. This has presented me with some difficult existential and logistical questions before. You understand?"

When he met her eyes again, she nodded slowly and said in a voice that sounded much like the good old Bellatrix,

"I believe I understand, My Lord."

He kissed her forehead and said quietly, "Your sister will be glad to see you moving and talking properly again. Go and reassure her that all is well. And tomorrow you're back in full service. Am I understood?"

Bellatrix nodded, finally looking happy. She scooted off his desk and walked toward the door, muttering a delighted little, "Good night, My Lord," as she did.

"Bella."

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and looked over her shoulder with an expression of concern. Voldemort leaned back against his desk, against the place where she'd just been sitting, and he told her,

"Eat something, will you?"

"I will, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded once, quite confidently, and slipped back out of the office.

Once she'd gone, Voldemort realised the past month had been far more difficult than it should have been, all because he'd sent her away. He had fully submitted now to the idea that he was weaker without Bellatrix than he was with her. In a peculiar and uncomfortable way, he needed her. Of course, she needed him far more desperately, but Lord Voldemort did not need anyone else.

No one else except for Bellatrix.

* * *

**June 1980**

**Malfoy Manor**

"He's beautiful, Cissy." Bellatrix smiled a bit as she cradled the newborn, a boy called Draco, in her arms. It was an alien sensation for Bellatrix to hold so small a creature like this, and a little part of her wondered whether she was doing it right. She stared down at the boy, drawing a knuckle over his wispy, white-blond hair. "He looks just like you and Lucius."

"Oh, Bella." Narcissa reached up from the bed where she was resting and touched her elder sister's elbow. She waited for Bellatrix to meet her eyes, and then she said firmly, "Your turn will come. The war will end, and then it will your turn, and the child you bear will be the most extraordinary -"

"Let's just focus on little Draco for now, shall we?" Bellatrix interrupted, returning her eyes to the two-day-old baby in her arms. Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times and made an odd mewling sound. Bellatrix frowned, confused, and looked to Narcissa.

"He's hungry," Narcissa explained, reaching her arms out to take Draco back. As Bellatrix handed over the baby, she marveled at how quickly Narcissa had taken to motherhood. It seemed second nature to her, as though she had been destined for motherhood. No wonder then, Bellatrix thought, that Narcissa had spent years agonised by her inability to become pregnant. After she handed the baby back to Narcissa, Bellatrix said once more,

"He really is gorgeous, Cissy. Congratulations. I'm glad you're well."

She turned to go, feeling awkward about the idea of watching Narcissa nurse Draco. She paused with her hand on the doorknob as Narcissa said from behind her,

"If he's not in his office downstairs, he's out on a mission. You're more than welcome to wait if he's not here."

Bellatrix nodded, still facing the door, and opened it. She walked down the narrow, winding stairs that led to the first storey of the manor, and then she made her way down a wide corridor. She passed portraits of Malfoy ancestors, all of them with the same ice blond look that Abraxas and Lucius shared, that had now been passed down to little Draco. Bellatrix felt like an utter outsider, all of a sudden. She finally came to the door of the Dark Lord's office, and she knocked three times. There was no answer. She knocked again, but was greeted by silence. So he was out on a mission, as Narcissa had said.

Bellatrix put her back to the corridor wall and slumped down, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

"Why so glum, Madam Lestrange?"

She looked up to see the portrait of Camilla Malfoy, a witch from the mid 19th century who had lived in this very manor. The pretty young witch looked rather concerned, and Bellatrix sighed heavily.

"It's nothing," she insisted with some degree of familiarity. More than a decade of visiting the Dark Lord in this office had meant that she knew all the portraits in this corridor quite well.

"Pish posh. I know 'nothing' perfectly well when I see it. Something's the matter. Won't you tell me?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "Envy is an ugly, awful sensation. That's all."

Camilla nodded knowingly and glanced sideways in her portrait as though looking to another painting. She finally looked back to Bellatrix and said, "Your nephew, born here just a few days ago. Is that it?"

Bellatrix said nothing. She drummed her fingers on the rug, and Camilla Malfoy continued relentlessly,

"Motherhood is hardly anything to be jealous of, Madam Lestrange. I bore two children, the raising of whom devoured my every waking moment. The third child died along with me in the birthing process. Not even magic could save us. I'm made to understand you're quite the fighter. Why would you -"

"Shut up, you rotten dead hag!" Bellatrix aimed her wand threateningly at the portrait, and she hissed, "You know nothing about me at all. I ought to slash your canvas to bits or set you on fire."

"Calm down, Bella," said a smooth voice from her left. Bellatrix lowered her wand and scrambled to her feet as she saw the Dark Lord himself coming down the corridor, flanked by Avery, Macnair, and both Lestrange brothers. Bellatrix bowed her head as the Dark Lord approached. Rabastan let out a low chuckle and said to his brother,

"Dolph, your little wifey's about to start a brand-new war with the portraits."

"Shut up, Rabastan," Bellatrix growled. She and Rabastan had been cranky with one another for the last six weeks. The Dark Lord sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, glancing from Rabastan Lestrange to Bellatrix and back again.

"You were both wrong," Voldemort said, referencing the botched ambush in Shropshire six weeks earlier. "Bella, you should have known better than to Apparate straight into a field of sheep, as though they wouldn't panic and alert the locals to your presence. Rabastan, you managed to appear in the middle of the River Severn. Can we all agree that you both acted the fool that night and move on? Thank you."

"I'm sorry, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She tipped her chin up and looked at Rabastan as she said, "I'll be much more careful in the future."

"As will I, My Lord," Rabastan said, still glaring at his sister-in-law as he spoke. Beside him, Rodolphus shook his head wearily, and Avery suppressed a smirk. The Dark Lord sounded very frustrated as he barked,

"Avery, Macnair, and the two of you," he gestured to the Lestrange brothers and said, "You did well. As well as we could hope for, given the circumstances. Go home and rest. Bella, come into my office."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said in a heavy tone, following him inside. As he shut the door, he said,

"There are two members of the Order of the Phoenix in the dungeons. I've already searched their minds; they're young and there's nothing useful. We'll use them as leverage - we're going to bring them with us to Shropshire and try again. I'm very certain higher-ranking members of the Order are hiding there. The Longbottoms, the Potters, the Weasleys… we'll use these two in the dungeons as bait and capture more valuable members. You'll be coming with us. Tomorrow night."

Bellatrix nodded as she took in the plan. "Who are they?" she asked. "The ones in the dungeons."

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively and said, "Betsy Hughes and Joe Domby. Two newly-graduated Gryffindors. Mudbloods. They didn't know anything of value, and their lives certainly aren't worth anything."

"Not to us, anyway," Bellatrix said, "but they'll make fine bait. Albus Dumbledore does put value on the strangest things."

Voldemort scoffed a little and nodded. He looked quite serious then as he said, "I feel the end of it approaching. I can't put my finger on why. I don't know how it will end. But I can feel that finality, the last stand of this war, hurtling toward me like a train."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open and she swallowed heavily. "It will end in victory, My Lord. It can't end any other way."

He smiled crookedly at her and closed the gap between them. He tipped her face up to his and said quite firmly,

"No great ruler in all of human history has known a more loyal lieutenant than I have in you."

He leaned down and kissed her then, in a way that felt like he needed the kiss to survive. His movements were urgent but smooth as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Suddenly there was no jealousy about having a whinging, hungry baby. Suddenly there was no bitterness over mistakes made in battle. All Bellatrix felt was love for Lord Voldemort. Love for the man who was embracing and kissing her. He was all that mattered right now, she knew. He would always be all that mattered.

* * *

**August 1980**

**Malfoy Manor**

"Enter," Voldemort snapped roughly from where he sat at his desk. The past two months had been a string of errors in battle, loss of prisoners, casualties among Death Eaters, and a few of his most loyal followers sent to Azkaban. Voldemort was not in a good mood at all as the door of the office pushed open and Severus Snape walked in.

"What do you want, Severus?" Voldemort demanded, and the young man looked nervous as he gestured to the chair opposite Voldemort.

"May I sit, My Lord?"

Voldemort shrugged impatiently and nodded. "Make it quick."

Severus Snape's face was positively green with apparent nerves and nausea, and instantly Voldemort realised this was no ordinary visit. He cleansed himself of his impatience and said rather firmly,

"You are a skilled Occlumens, I know. Let me in. Show me what's wrong. Legilimens."

Snape was pushing forward a memory, and Voldemort let it play like a Muggle film. Snape was in the Hog's Head, hiding on the staircase and peering surreptitiously into the dining area. Albus Dumbledore was seated at a table with a witch called Sybill Trelawney.

'Well, Ms Trelawney, I shall be in touch,' Dumbledore said. He sighed heavily and looked disappointed as he admitted, 'I confess that I am not certain this position is the best fit for you, but -'

He stopped then, for Sybill Trelawney's head had been flung backward by some invisible hand. She hurtled forward and flopped down onto the table. When she raised her head to look at Dumbledore, her eyes were distant and her voice was otherworldly.

'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…'

'Oy!' cried an angry voice from behind Severus Snape, wrenching him up by the back of his collar. Snape was suddenly facing a wrathful Aberforth Dumbledore, who pushed Snape so hard down the stairs that the boy nearly tumbled down. He caught himself as Aberforth said, 'Get out of my pub, and don't come back! You and your ilk are not welcome here.'

Snape ignored Dumbledore, looking frantically to the table where Dumbledore sat with Sybill Trelawney. Whatever the witch had been saying, she was done now. She was face-down on the table again, and Albus Dumbledore's pale eyes were wide with surprise.

'I told you to get out of here!' Aberforth Dumbledore bellowed, and Severus Snape wordlessly scurried out the door of the pub and Disapparated.

Lord Voldemort pulled out of Snape's head and stared.

"A prophecy," he said blankly, and Snape nodded.

"I do believe so, My Lord. Sybill Trelawney comes from a line of Seers, and she was interviewing with Dumbledore for a Divination position at Hogwarts."

"Born to those who have thrice defied me. Born as the seventh month dies," Voldemort mused, running through the incomplete prophecy in his head. He blinked a few times, thinking of how Lily and James Potter had refused the offer to join his ranks, the way they had so often escaped capture or seized his followers in battle. The same went for Alice and Frank Longbottom. Both couples, Voldemort knew, had recently birthed little boys. His intelligence said that the Longbottom boy had been born on the thirtieth, and the Potter boy on the thirty-first of July.

"The Potter child," Voldemort snapped at Snape, who suddenly looked alarmed. "What is his name?"

Snape shrugged desperately and shook his head. "I… I do not know, My Lord," he confessed. His cheeks went a little pink and he said, "I heard someone yesterday call the child 'Harry.' I… I do not…"

"You've told me all you could, and you've proven your loyalty. Thank you. Go." Voldemort flicked his hand toward the door, which swung open and showed Severus Snape in no uncertain terms that it was time for him to leave. Snape rose from the chair, bowing his head at Voldemort and turning on his heels to walk from the office. He seemed almost bewildered, Voldemort noticed. He called after Snape,

"Bellatrix Lestrange is upstairs with her sister. Send her down here at once."

"Yes, My Lord," Snape said, pulling the door shut behind him.

It took only a few minutes for Bellatrix to come, but Voldemort spent all that time with his eyes shut, thinking very hard. He imagined, to the best of his skill, the child born to the Longbottoms. Neville. The name came at him through the ether as though someone had whispered it into his ear. Then he thought of the infuriatingly defiant Lily and James Potter, and suddenly he saw a newborn with the mother's green eyes and the father's black hair. Harry. Something lurched inside Voldemort's stomach at the thought of the infant.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Could this little creature - Harry Potter - possibly grow up to best Voldemort in a duel or to develop powers stronger than his? It seemed impossible, but, then, Lord Voldemort had probably not seemed very intimidating as the newborn Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He needed to find this child, he knew. Quickly. He needed to track down this little demon, this Harry Potter, and he needed to snuff him out like a flame. Some distant part of Voldemort's mind heard three knocks on the office door, and he called for Bellatrix to enter even as he kept his eyes shut. He thought very hard about Lily and James Potter, about their new son, and he desperately tried to find them, to locate them in the great void.

"My Lord?" he heard Bellatrix's voice saying, but he ignored her. He searched and searched the great emptiness until he felt Bellatrix's fingers stroking his jaw and heard her say in a worried voice, "My Lord, are you all right?"

His eyes sprang open, and he saw that she was crouched down to be eye-to-eye with him. She looked terribly frightened, and her breath came in little shallow pants.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort murmured, his fingers trembling as they took hold of Bellatrix's cheeks. "The son of Lily and James Potter. Harry. I have to find the boy; I have to kill him."

"Let me do it, My Lord," Bellatrix begged. She knew nothing about the prophecy, about the boy's alleged powers, but she could see that her almighty lord and master had been struck through with fear. Her eyes welled and she pleaded, "Let me find him. Let me kill the stupid little thing. Harry Potter. I will destroy him, My Lord."

"I must do it," Voldemort whispered. How he knew that, he wasn't sure. It was true, though. He was certain of that. Harry Potter had to die at the hand of the Dark Lord himself. Everything was crashing down now; the end of everything was indeed rushing toward him. He blinked quickly a few times and said to Bellatrix, "Go wait for me in my rooms. Fetch a new bottle of firewhisky. You and I are going to get very drunk tonight."


	5. Chapter 5

**August 1980**

**Malfoy Manor**

"We're going to play a game," the Dark Lord said as soon as the door to his parlour shut behind him. Bellatrix flew up from the armchair where she'd been waiting, but he gestured for her to sit back down. She did, watching as he pulled off his outer robe and his tie and tossed them into the laundry bin. He unfastened the top three buttons of his white shirt, as well as the buttons at his wrists. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and sank into the armchair opposite Bellatrix, tipping his head back and sighing as though he were very tired.

He was so handsome, Bellatrix thought. More handsome than ever. He was nearly fifty-four years of age, and yet she found him infinitely more attractive than she had nearly twelve years ago when they'd first met.

"The game we are going to play," Voldemort said, his eyes shut, "Is called 'I have never.' The rules are as follows. We shall take it in turns. I will say something I have never done before in all my life. If you havedone it, then you must drink… and explain what happened. Then it will be your turn to say something you've never done, and if I have done it… well, you get the idea."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she laughed a little. "But, My Lord, that's hardly fair!" she protested in a teasing voice. "You can see straight into my mind at will! How am I to know that you're telling the truth and not exploiting that ability to get me stumbling drunk whilst you stay sober?"

He smirked and lowered his face to look at her. "You're right. It's an inherently unfair game. I never said it would be fair. I do promise neither of us will wind up sober."

He pulled the stopper out of the bottle of Blishen's firewhisky and began pouring what seemed like an insane amount of liquor into each of the two tumblers on the table between them. As he did, Bellatrix contemplated how tumultuous everything was just now. She was still trying to capture the Longbottoms, who were believed to be somewhere in Scotland and who undoubtedly knew a great deal of valuable information. The Death Eater forces had suffered enormously in the past few months. At the end of last year, her cousin Regulus Black had disappeared, and she still wasn't certain what had happened to him. A drinking game might seem superfluous or irresponsible during war, but it felt more necessary now than ever.

Bellatrix took her tumbler of whisky from the Dark Lord when he held it out to her. He sighed, and his glittering black eyes bored into hers as he said,

"I have never started an entire row of Muggle houses on fire, then Disillusioned myself and stood in an alley giggling as the fire brigade tried to put out the flames."

Bellatrix laughed and shook her head in disbelief. "That… is oddly specific, My Lord," she complained. He glanced at her whisky and cocked an eyebrow up at her. His face was strange as he said,

"I have never done it. Have you?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and sipped from her whisky.

"More," he said firmly. "Then you must tell me all about it."

Bellatrix spluttered as the firewhisky burned her throat. She wrenched her eyes shut and her ears rang for a moment before she managed to choke out, "It was… well, you know, My Lord, that it was that time two years ago in Lancaster when I took out some Mudbloods' relatives. I may have gotten a bit carried away in terms of collateral damage."

He laughed, sounding genuinely amused as he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. "You nearly set the entire town on fire," he reminded her, "and you only dragged yourself away from watching it all when I summoned you through your Mark."

"I remember, My Lord." Bellatrix sighed and tried desperately to think of something he'd done that she hadn't. She didn't want to anger him, to seem impudent. This was a difficult line to balance. Finally she said in a shaking voice, "I have never… officiated a marriage ceremony."

Voldemort scoffed and took a long draft from his firewhisky. He kicked off his shoes and muttered, "I hardly think I need to describe your own wedding day to you, do I?"

"You don't," Bellatrix admitted. She smiled and said, "I was there, My Lord."

"So you were." He tapped the rim of his glass and said, "I have never committed adultery against my partner."

Bellatrix huffed in frustration. "Well, that's not fair at all, My Lord!" she exclaimed. "You don't have a partner!"

"Don't I?" He seemed stoic then, as he dragged his thumb around the rim of his tumbler. Bellatrix's eyes flicked of their own accord to the ring on her right hand, the one he'd put there years earlier. Bellatrix's heart began to race, and she felt dizzy and breathless as she heard him murmur, "Drink, Bella. And then explain yourself."

She did, her hand rickety as she sipped the searing liquid. She stared at the amber liquid in her tumbler and said quietly, "When I was little more than a child, I fell in love with a man who was never my husband. A man who could never be my husband. I love him still."

"Do you?" he asked, and Bellatrix nodded, her eyes burning worse than her throat as she said,

"With all that I am."

"Something more lighthearted, then," Voldemort insisted after a long moment. Bellatrix tried to clear her thoughts, but thinking clearly was becoming a bit difficult after two enormous gulps of liquor. She finally looked at Voldemort and said,

"I have never finagled my way into indefinite residence in someone else's home." She grinned, but he clucked his tongue at her and said,

"Oh, yes you have. What do you call living in Castle Lestrange?"

"That is my rightful home as the wife of Rodolphus Lestrange!" Bellatrix argued. They were both laughing a little now, and Voldemort shrugged.

"Malfoy Manor is my rightful home as the Dark Lord. Let's both drink." He swigged hard at his firewhisky, and Bellatrix struggled to swallow another burning mouthful. It took a while for her to recover from the way her throat burned, and she wished she had some water to relieve the sensation. She heard the Dark Lord say,

"I have never managed to make so many men fall in love with me at the same time."

Bellatrix gasped and stared at him with wide eyes. "My Lord," she breathed. "All your followers love you. You know that."

Her head was buzzing now, and he shook his head and laughed at her as he pointed out, "I said in love with. That's a very different thing from obedience. Didn't you know your brother-in-law was fiercely in love with you?"

"Rabastan?" Bellatrix said with shock. She shook her head. "No, My Lord. I promise you he isn't."

Voldemort tipped his head and said, "You've more than one brother-in-law."

Now Bellatrix was terribly confused, and the room dragged around as she shook her head. "Lucius loves Narcissa."

Voldemort chuckled. "Actually, it is Rabastan Lestrange. And I promise you that he is in love with you. Let's not forget which one of us is a Legilimens."

Bellatrix's mouth hung open with shock. She and Rabastan always argued; their relationship had long consisted mostly of them arguing about logistics.

"Haven't you ever heard of a boy being rude to a girl because he fancies her?" Voldemort sipped from his firewhisky, and Bellatrix said,

"You don't have to drink, My Lord; I do. Apparently." She took the smallest sip of liquor she thought she could get away with. Her mind still reeled with the idea that Rabastan was in love with her. As she pulled her glass back into her lap, she asked hesitantly, "Is it just the two of them? Rodolphus and Rabastan? You said 'so many men.' Just the two of them?"

"What a terribly greedy thing to say," Voldemort chuckled. "Do you require more than two men in love with you at once? Go on. Your turn. Say it. 'I have never…'"

Bellatrix was struggling to think clearly now, and her words slurred a little as she finally said, "I have never…" She giggled a bit, thinking she might get punished for what she was about to say. "I have never had someone give me pleasure with their mouth."

Voldemort drank from his whisky and asked matter-of-factly, "Would you like to fix that?"

Bellatrix said nothing, feeling her cheeks go hot. Voldemort set his nearly-empty tumbler of whisky down on the table and walked with swaying steps to Bellatrix's chair. He shocked her by taking her firewhisky and setting it down beside his. He sank down to the ground, kneeling as he pushed Bellatrix's skirts up.

"My Lord…" Bellatrix gasped, unable to believe the sight of him pulling her knickers down as he kissed the inside of her thigh. She stifled a loud cry as he pulled her toward the edge of the chair and moved his head up her thigh. She closed her eyes, unable to process the intense physical sensation and the sight of him as he kissed lightly at her folds. She squirmed as he held her thighs, her knickers balled up in one of his fists. "My Lord… ungh… My Lord…"

His voice vibrated against her when he tasted her. He dragged his tongue slowly around the outside of her entrance, teasing and lathing before he finally pulled her sensitive nub between his lips. Bellatrix squealed helplessly and bucked her hips forward against his face. He groaned again, licking and suckling with more pressure and increasing speed. Bellatrix felt her stomach coiling, knowing that she wasn't going to be able to keep herself from falling off the cliff. She reached desperately for the Dark Lord's greying, thinning hair, holding his head as she came. She was utterly lost for a long moment, feeling pleasure explode in her veins as her ears went hot and her breath halted for a bit. Finally he pulled his head away and tugged Bellatrix's skirts back down. He dragged his fingers over the fabric of her knickers and looked up with shining lips to Bellatrix.

"I'm going to hold onto these," he panted, squeezing his fist around the knickers. He reached for the arms of Bellatrix's chair, and she helped him stand. He was properly drunk now, and he sounded hungry as he said to her, "Enough games. Go to the bedroom."

Bellatrix pulled herself up to stand, vastly underestimating her own inebriation. She stumbled and nearly fell down, but the Dark Lord wrapped his arms around her to catch her. The two of them slowly made their way to the shadowy bedchamber, and once they were in there, Voldemort used wandless, nonverbal magic to light the lamps on the wall.

"That's not fair, either," Bellatrix complained in a dragging voice. "How can you possibly use that sort of magic when you're… when you're…"

"Sloshed? Legless? Completely and totally drunk?" Voldemort supplied. He paused at the side of the bed and opened a little blue bottle sitting there. He drank half of the bottle, and as he set it down he said, "Wouldn't want to have the same thing happen that poor Rodolphus did the day he married you."

Bellatrix giggled at that, at the memory of how Rodolphus had been soft on their wedding night, of how the Dark Lord had taken her husband's place in her marriage bed. Bellatrix squinted through her blurred vision and read the label on the blue bottle once Voldemort set it down. Girding Potion. Intended for physical strength and stamina. She raised her eyebrows, wondering what exactly the Dark Lord meant to do with her.

"You'll see," he promised, and his fingers fumbled with the buttons that ran down the back of Bellatrix's short-sleeved black dress. He frowned above her and said, "In the future, you're to wear clothing that does not fight back when I remove it. That's an order. I'm tired of arguing with your damned… buttons."

He yanked at the back of the dress, and Bellatrix gasped as buttons went flying. He could fix it in the morning, and she knew he would. For now, the dress gave way and he yanked it forward and helped her clumsily step out of it. He unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. His own shirt was unfasted enough that he merely dragged it up over his head. His trousers came off, too, and Bellatrix helped him edge the trousers and his underwear down. She followed the clothes to the floor, settling on her knees, remembering what he'd done with his mouth and thinking she would return the favour. She licked up the bottom of his shaft, sucking on his tip for a moment before bobbing her head all the way down until his tip hit the back of her throat. She repeated this process a great many times, and all the while Lord Voldemort groaned with his fingers snagged in Bellatrix's curls. Bellatrix's jaw started to ache, but it was such bliss to pleasure him like this that she didn't mind. Finally she heard him say,

"I have never… I have never lapped up my master's seed like a starving woman."

Bellatrix giggled and pulled him out of her mouth. She stared up at him, blinking through the blur, and she pointed out, "Well, of course you haven't, My Lord. And, anyway, I haven't got any more firewhisky."

"I suppose you'll have to drink something else, then," Voldemort said playfully. He pulled Bellatrix's mouth back onto his length, pushing himself far into her throat as he tensed up. His seed pumped into Bellatrix's mouth, bitter and metallic and oddly delicious. He moaned her name over and over again like a whispered incantation. Bella… Bella… She could hear his voice saying it as he twitched inside her mouth. He didn't go soft like he usually did after a climax. Bellatrix smiled as she pulled her mouth away, realising just what that Girding Potion was going to mean. He seized her jaw in his hand pushed her mouth open, aiming the tip of his yew wand between her lips.

"Scourgify," he muttered, repeating the cleansing spell at his own mouth. The metallic bitterness was gone as Bellatrix's mouth became fresh. As Bellatrix stood on rickety legs, he set his wand down and explained, "I wanted to do this."

He kissed her straight on the mouth, his tongue lathing her lips in exactly the same way he'd done to her womanhood. Eventually their tongues began to dance, their teeth began to nibble, and Bellatrix felt her body being pushed back onto the bed. Their mouths parted, but Voldemort pulled Bellatrix to the edge of the bed and parted her legs. He pushed himself into her rather roughly, eliciting a helpless cry from Bellatrix. One of his hands held fast to her hip, and the other caressed one of her breasts as she mewled and squealed. He pumped his hips, slowly at first at then a bit faster. Bellatrix squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the feeling of him filling her over and over again.

"Bella…?" she heard him whisper, and all she could do was moan,

"Mm-hmm?"

"Look at me, Bella." Voldemort wasn't asking now; he was insisting. She forced her eyes open, forced herself to meet his impossibly magnetic gaze, and she whispered impulsively,

"I love you."

He just nodded and jerked his hips forward, finishing again, this time inside of her. Bellatrix distantly hoped the Girding Potion might wear off just a little bit; her body was exhausted and her mind was so fuzzy she couldn't think straight.

She was only distantly aware of the way Lord Voldemort adjusted her body, the way he pulled the blankets back and tucked her beneath them. She only sort of felt it when he pulled himself up behind her and pushed gently into her once more. She was sore now, and almost asleep, so she just lay there while he rocked against her. His thrusts were slow and shallow, and Bellatrix surprised herself with a subtle, unexpected climax. He was kissing her neck, but all she could do was to whisper again that she loved him. He pumped and throbbed inside her as he finished for the last time, and then it seemed that the Girding Potion had reached the limits of its potential.

His breath shook as he kissed between her shoulder blades. As she quickly descended into sleep, Bellatrix's voice drunkenly asked,

"Rodolphus and Rabastan… they're the only two that love me, right?"

"No." His voice was distant but certain, and Bellatrix couldn't even register that answer before she fell asleep with the Dark Lord's arms cradling her against him.

* * *

**March 1981**

**Castle Lestrange**

Bellatrix stared at the little wooden top that spun neatly before her on the dining-room table. She was keeping it spinning with magic, thinking about what a miserable six months everyone had had. The Dark Lord had set all his soldiers loose, and had searched madly himself, with the goal of capturing James and Lily Potter. A secondary goal, capturing the Longbottoms, had been established. All searches had come up fruitless. Almost a dozen Death Eaters were either in Azkaban or dead because of the endless battles. Hadley Carrow had been arrested at the Ministry and sent straight into Azkaban without trial.

The top kept spinning as Bellatrix whispered an incantation to keep it in motion. She thought about the sight of Walden Macnair dying in front of his son. She thought of the night that the Dark Lord had blown apart a sprawling country house in a fit of rage after discovering that no members of the Order of the Phoenix were hiding inside. He'd been so rough with her that night, leaving bruises and crying her name as he -

"Bellatrix!"

The top on the table fell over, rocking back and forth as Bellatrix's concentration was broken. She pulled up from the chair where she sat and rushed toward the door of the dining-room. She could hear Rodolphus calling breathlessly again,

"Bellatrix! Hurry!"

She sprinted down the corridor toward the sound of his voice. When she reached the castle's entry hall, she stopped to catch her breath. Rodolphus and Rabastan held an unconscious wizard aloft with their wands. He was bound with magical cords that were tethered to the wand of Bartemius Crouch, Jr. Bellatrix flicked her eyes from her husband to her brother-in-law, then to the young man between them. Then she looked at their prisoner, taking in his artificial patched eye and his haggard appearance.

"Is that… is that Alastor Moody?" she breathed, and Barty Crouch, Jr. laughed rather maniacally as he said,

"Yes. Yes, it is, Madam Lestrange."

"Information from your father?" Bellatrix asked in disbelief. The young wizard scratched at his hair, flicked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and shrugged.

"In a manner of speaking. Documents taken… from his office, you know. A bit of Polyjuice Potion, a few Confundus charms. Nothing too complicated. But he's so very valuable, isn't he?" Barty Crouch, Jr.'s eyes sparkled with unmitigated delight, and Bellatrix muttered,

"Yes. He is very valuable. Bring him in here, boys." She led the way into a parlour off the main corridor and watched as Rodolphus and Rabastan lowered the body to the ground. She studied the unconscious form of the most fearsome Auror the Ministry possessed. Alastor Moody was known for being just as fearless and dedicated as the most skilled Death Eaters. He'd gone wand-to-wand with the Dark Lord himself and had Disapparated just as a Killing Curse approached him. He'd Splinched awkwardly, leaving an eyeball behind, which explained the artificial eye in the patch.

Bellatrix stalked around the motionless form on the ground and murmured, "Crouch, alert the Dark Lord. Rabastan… fetch me some wine, will you? I'm going to need it."

Rabastan and Barty Crouch, Jr. left the parlour, and Bellatrix raised her eyes to her husband. He smirked at her and said proudly,

"He wasn't easy to catch. But we did it, Bellatrix. Our most valuable prisoner to date."

"Don't worry. I won't waste him," Bellatrix promised. She aimed her wand at Alastor Moody, cleared her throat rather roughly, Vanished the cords with a nonverbal spell, and then barked, "Rennervate."

Alastor Moody stirred a bit on the floor, and before he could even get his bearings, Bellatrix sneered, "Crucio!"

He bucked and writhed on the floor, but was quieter than most who fell victim to Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse. The web of red light that wrapped tightly around Moody held fast and inflicted pain that was undoubtedly terrible. Moody only grunted and hacked every now and then. He didn't scream like the rest. Bellatrix could tell at once that he would prove himself difficult. She released the Cruciatus and snapped at him,

"Where are the Longbottoms? Where are the Potters? Tell us now, Moody, and spare yourself."

He laughed. He actually laughed from where he lay, glaring up at Bellatrix with his remaining eye. He coughed a little and said in his brogue,

"Even if I knew where the Potters and the Longbottoms were - which I don't, mind - do you honestly think I'd tell a wretched hag like you about it?"

"Dirumpo!" Bellatrix cried, pointing her wand at Moody's left leg. All the bones in his leg shattered and splintered beyond repair, sending a bloody mess flying across the rug. Moody hissed and moaned quietly, but Bellatrix didn't give up. She sent a nonverbal Contusio flying, ripping across his chest so hard that he made a choked little sound for a moment.

"Where are the Longbottoms?" yelled Rodolphus from where he stood. His voice was almost frightening, echoing off the walls as he demanded, "Tell us where they are. Tell us where Lily and James Potter are!"

"I don't know, you damned fool, and I wouldn't tell you if I did." Moody watched the way Bellatrix cauterized his leg. He'd be no good to them if he bled out and died. He glared up at her with his one real eye, and his false one swiveled to Rodolphus.

"You're evil, the both of you. The whole lot of you, but the two of perhaps more than the rest. You're awful, and you deserve everything you get once all of this is ov-"

"CRUCIO!" Bellatrix screamed, cutting Moody off. The curse seemed to take stronger hold this time, for the red light shimmered and glistened around Moody's form as he convulsed and yelped. Bellatrix felt her head throbbing, her chest burning from the effort of sustaining the powerful curse. Then, out of nowhere, Moody disappeared.

Bellatrix's spell evaporated into the air once Moody had gone. Bellatrix stared in horrified disbelief at the place on the rug where he'd been. All that was left behind was the blood and gore from how she'd splintered his leg.

"Did he just…" Rodolphus began, and Bellatrix shrieked at him,

"You can't Disapparate in the middle of being tortured!"

"It looks like Alastor Moody just did," Rodolphus said, his face going white. Bellatrix shut her eyes and swallowed hard then, for she heard footsteps in the corridor outside the parlour. Suddenly, Barty Crouch, Jr. appeared, trailed by the Dark Lord and by Rabastan, who held a goblet of wine and looked very surprised.

"Where did he go?" Lord Voldemort demanded.

"He… he Disapparated, My Lord. In the middle of a Cruciatus Curse," Bellatrix admitted. She raised her eyes to the Dark Lord, seeing his flash red and knowing she would be punished for this. She whispered helplessly, "I am very sorry, My Lord."

Voldemort looked at the terrible splatter of blood, bone, and muscle on the rug and sniffed lightly.

"Clean up this mess," he said matter-of-factly, "and next time take better precautions to ensure your prisoner doesn't escape in the middle of a damned interrogation. For Merlin's sake… sloppy work like this will lose us the damned war."

He glared at each of him, his gaze twisting strangely when his eyes settled on Bellatrix. He pinched his lips, and then he turned and walked briskly from the parlour. A few moments later, Bellatrix heard the heavy front door to the castle slam shut, and a single tear made its way from her right eye. She swiped angrily at it and said roughly to the wizards around her,

"You heard the Dark Lord. We must all do better next time. We've all failed him. Go away, all of you, and leave me be."

The three men obeyed her wordlessly, slinking out of the parlour one by one and leaving Bellatrix to stare at the remains of Alastor Moody's leg on the rug.

* * *

**October 1981**

**Malfoy Manor**

"Enter." Voldemort barked the order sharply in response to the knock on his office door. He'd had three consecutive nights with virtually no sleep, and his energy was wearing out. Whoever was on the other side of that office door had better have a damned good reason for bothering him, he thought.

He rolled his eyes to himself when he saw the short, plump wizard who came tottering into the office like a frightened child. It was Peter Pettigrew, better known as 'Wormtail' in homage to his unregistered Animagus form as a rat. A fitting Animagus, Voldemort thought, for a weak-minded turncoat like Pettigrew.

"Sit down, Wormtail. Make it quick," Voldemort snapped. He had never been fully confident in the young wizard. If he was willing to double-cross Dumbledore and all his childhood friends, how could Voldemort be so sure of his loyalty? He narrowed his eyes across the desk as Pettigrew sat down and cleared his throat. He was smiling rather oddly, Voldemort noticed suddenly, and he seemed to radiate happy energy. Voldemort said in a cautious voice, "You have something to say, Wormtail. Say it."

"My Lord, I am elated to inform you that I have been chosen… chosen as a Secret-Keeper in a Fidelius Charm. Owing to my friendship with James Potter, during our school days… they chose me because they thought no one would think to ask me the secret, My Lord." Pettigrew sat up very straight in his chair and put his hands on Voldemort's desk as he lowered his voice and said gravely, "I know where the Potters are."

Suddenly Voldemort's heart began to race. For over a year, ever since Severus Snape had brought him part of the prophecy from the Hog's Head, he had tried to determine which child was the one upon whom he needed to focus his attentions. He'd determined through intuition that there was already an odd, tenuous connection between himself and the Potter boy in the ether. This child, this Harry Potter, needed to be eradicated. Now.

"Where are they?" Voldemort demanded, knowing that he could not force the truth out of Pettigrew if he were really a Secret-Keeper. Well, he thought ruefully, here's your chance to prove your loyalty, Wormtail.

Peter Pettigrew tipped his head up proudly, but his voice shook just a little as he said, "Chancel Cottage, My Lord. Chancel Cottage, just outside Godric's Hollow."

Voldemort shut his eyes and thought hard. Suddenly an image came into his mind, an image of a squat stone cottage just beyond the centre of the village. He'd passed that very cottage before on trips to Godric's Hollow, where a good number of wizards and witches lived. How long had the Potters been there, evading him? His stomach twisted with anger and anticipation. He kept his eyes closed and said,

"Thank you for the information, Wormtail. Go."

"My Lord," Pettigrew acknowledged, and then Voldemort heard the other chair scrape backward, heard Pettigrew's footsteps as they approached the office door, heard the door open and shut, and then felt the heavy silence in the room. He kept his eyes shut as he reached for his wand and touched it to his left forearm. He called out into the void for her, for Bellatrix, summoning her and knowing her Dark Mark would burn at once.

He tried to steel himself. Tonight would be the night that this existential threat to his power was destroyed. Somehow, he knew he had to go alone. This could not be an ambush. This was for him to do, to kill the boy himself. If Lily and James Potter died in the process, that would be inconsequential. It would be good for the Order of the Phoenix to be dealt this blow. Perhaps they would all finally submit, once it was clear the Dark Lord was immortal and all-powerful.

The war was about to end. Voldemort was about to end it, to silence the dissent once and for all. Later tonight he would be sitting atop a throne that none could see, that all had built. He would be ruler of everything at the end of this night.

He heard Bellatrix's characteristic knock on his office door and rose from his chair, walking to the office door and opening it by hand. Bellatrix looked very worried as he beckoned her inside. She also seemed exhausted, her brown eyes rimmed with dark shadows.

"My Lord," she said softly, "is there something you needed?"

"You," he said simply, shutting the door. "I needed to see you, Bella, to tell you that after tonight everything is going to change. The war will be over."

Bellatrix blinked a few times, seeming to absorb his crackling energy. Her eyes went wide, and she whispered,

"You've found him? The Potter boy?"

He nodded and took Bellatrix's face in his hands. He crushed her mouth with a kiss, by far the deepest one they'd shared in a great long while. She tasted delicious, and her face was soft beneath his hands. Voldemort soaked in the feel of her, and when he finally pulled his mouth away, he asked in a shaking voice,

"Do you remember, a long time ago… I told you that when all the fighting was done, I would make you mine in every way? That I would give you my heir?"

Bellatrix's eyes welled up, and she nodded fervently. "Oh, yes, My Lord. I remember."

"The fighting ends tonight, Bella. Once the Potter boy is destroyed, once Dumbledore and his piddly followers realise that I can have anything and everything… their cause will collapse around them. They will tear themselves to bits, and everyone will fall in line behind me. I can feel it. I can feel it, Bella."

Bellatrix smiled, looking more genuinely happy than he could ever remember seeing her. She reached up to stroke at his jaw, and her voice cracked as she said,

"My Lord, I have always known that the war would end with your victory. Go at once, please! I beg you to go and kill the boy. End it now, so that I can more swiftly worship my conquering hero, my master and champion."

He kissed her again, more delicately this time, knowing it would be the last time he touched her before this milestone execution. When he stared at her eyes, he was suddenly taken back to the first time he'd met her. She'd been little more than a girl then, all awkward gangly movements and wide-eyed wonderment. She'd been so devoted, even then, that he'd identified her at once as the most useful of all his followers. She had never once failed in that regard. She'd had minor slip-ups with tasks now and then, but she had remained and would always be his most skilled and faithful servant.

But she'd been so much more than that, he realised now. She'd been his confidante to a degree none of the rest of them could fathom. She'd brought him comfort, and he'd occasionally done the same to her. She had been playful with him; she'd bared herself to him in every conceivable way. For nearly thirteen years, Voldemort had been trying to convince himself not to say the words he now could do nothing to contain.

"I love you, Bellatrix," he whispered, scarcely believing that he'd said it. A small part of his mind screamed that he was a fool to say such a silly thing. A slightly larger part of his mind knew it was true. Bellatrix almost fainted at the sound of the phrase, and he quickly wrapped one arm behind her back to hold her up. He touched his lips to hers and murmured, "All this time I have. I have loved you for so long that I… that I… it doesn't matter; you'll be here waiting when I get back."

She nodded, breathless and speechless. He kissed her one final time, drinking in as much of her as he could. Then he left her leaning heavily against the back of an armchair, and he walked briskly to the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and did not look over his shoulder as he nodded once and affirmed, more to himself than to her,

"It simply couldn't be helped, Bellatrix. I couldn't keep from loving you. It doesn't do any good to pretend otherwise anymore. This won't take long. Stay here."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix breathed from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, an odd tug in his chest compelling him to murmur, "Goodbye, Bella."

She nodded and smiled, looking serene and peaceful. "Goodbye, My Lord."

Voldemort opened the door and walked over the threshold, closing it behind him and leaving Bellatrix in his office. He made his way outside, past the anti-Apparition charms. He stood outside the gate and flicked his eyes up to the window where his office was, seeing Bellatrix's dark silhouette where she stood watching at the glass. He swallowed hard and Disapparated with a whip-like crack, coming to in an alley just outside Godric's Hollow.

He stepped out of the alley and turned to face Chancel Cottage. Inside, he could see a woman's silhouette. This time, it was not Bellatrix at the window. It was Lily Potter, her shape moving slowly behind a curtain in a softly-lit bedroom on the upper floor. Voldemort held his wand carefully and approached the cottage, his heart thumping. The end of the war was here; the armistice would come here in Godric's Hollow. It all ended now.

* * *

**October 1981**

**Malfoy Manor**

Seventeen minutes. It took only seventeen minutes from his departure until Bellatrix felt the terrible rip inside her chest. It was as though she was being torn apart from the inside. She shrieked and fell to the floor inside Voldemort's office, pounding her fists on the rug furiously at the unimaginable pain that had ripped through her.

For a moment, she had absolutely no idea what had happened. Had one of her organs burst inside of her? Was she dying, here and now, without Him? Had some rogue spell flown through a wall and hit her? After a moment, she couldn't even think clearly enough to question what was happening. All she knew was that the pain was like nothing she had ever experienced before; it was ten times worse than the most vicious Cruciatus Curse.

Then the pain stopped. Then everything stopped. There was black and quiet and cold, and Bellatrix lay there on the floor, unable to move, unable to breathe. Something compelled her to look at her right hand, and then she saw it.

Her bare finger. That right hand upon which the Dark Lord himself had placed that gorgeous emerald ring all those years before... that hand was now empty. The ring had disappeared into the void as if someone had come up and Vanished it.

And then Bellatrix knew. She knew because she felt a profound emptiness unlike anything she had ever experienced. She tried to scream. She trying to call out for him, but all she could do here was to stand by fireplace and cry. He was gone. She wasn't certain how, or why, but she knew in that moment that her lord and master, the man she had loved since she was little more than a child, the man who had just tonight confessed his own love for her… He was gone.

In desperation, Bellatrix sprinted out of his office and down the corridors. She dashed down the double staircase that led into the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor. She ran so hard that her lungs burned from the effort, until she was past the anti-Apparition charms. Then she turned to her right, shutting her eyes and thinking of the cottage he'd built for her in case of emergency.

Her body pinched and whirled through space, and when she came to, she was on her hands and knees in a freezing-cold forest. Bellatrix heaved herself up to stand, clamoring up the hill over stones and sticks and moss. At last, she came to the top of the hill, to the clearing where Capella Cottage had stood.

There was nothing there. No disturbance in the ground gave any evidence that the foundation of a house has ever been there. There was just a clearing, just an empty space like the one inside Bellatrix's chest. She shrieked and moaned and collapsed to the wet ground beneath her. She lay on her side, letting the icy mist soak her straight through.

An hour later, she managed to Apparate back to Castle Lestrange. She needed to find him. She could not, would not accept that he was gone. He was out there somewhere. It had to be so. And so she and her husband and anyone else who cared deeply for the Dark Lord would search. They would search and scan the entire Earth, every square meter of it, until they found Him.

Because Bellatrix simply could not accept a reality in which he did not exist.

She would find him.

* * *

**December 1981**

**Castle Lestrange**

"Tell me, you intolerable worm!" Bellatrix shrieked. She aimed her wand, shaking from hunger and lack of sleep, at the kneeling witch on the ground.

"Please… Madam Lestrange, I promise you that Frank and I know nothing about what happened to him. We weren't involved in it. Please, please have mercy on my son, on my sweet Neville, and I -"

"CRUCIO!" Bellatrix cried. A shimmering web of violent red light wrapped around Alice Longbottom, sending her into another fit of convulsions and screams. Bellatrix held the curse until she simply couldn't anymore, until she was utterly exhausted. She flicked her eyes up to the doorway when two figures appeared. She released Alice Longbottom from the Cruciatus as Rodolphus and Barty Crouch, Jr. walked into the room. Couch's tongue flicked out the side of his mouth in his odd, characteristic tic.

"Rabastan has the husband," Rodolphus said, dragging his fingers through his hair and sounding very tired. "He took over when I got too tired. Hand this woman over to Barty. Take a little break, Bellatrix."

A shriek pierced the quiet as Frank Longbottom's desperate cries ricocheted off the stone walls.

"I do not need a break; I need information," Bellatrix hissed. Flush with newfound energy, she aimed her wand at Alice Longbottom and was about to cast another spell when the other witch mumbled,

"P-please. Please. Madam Lestrange, see reason. Have mercy. Do with me what you will, but have mercy on my sweet Neville."

"What's that? Crouch, I'm a bit hard of hearing," Bellatrix said in a sour, mocking tone. She'd grown so much harder, so much more cruel these last weeks. She looked at fidgety Barty Crouch, Jr. and asked sarcastically, "What exactly did she say about her little Neville?"

"I think she said to be sure we take his legs off before his arms," Crouch laughed. Bellatrix giggled softly and leaned down to glare at Alice Longbottom.

"Is that what you said?" she asked. Alice shook her head and tried to cry, but she'd long run out of tears. Behind Bellatrix, Rodolphus said softly,

"Bellatrix, you've been at her for eight hours solid. You need to eat. You need to sleep. Let Barty take her for a while."

Bellatrix stood up and frowned, prepared to argue with her husband. But Rodolphus gave a weary sigh and walked up to her, whispering,

"He wouldn't want you shaking like this." Rodolphus took Bellatrix's trembling hands in his and kissed her knuckles. He nodded firmly and said, "He would command you to take some Dreamless Sleep. To rest. You know he would."

Bellatrix considered arguing again, but then she remembered the time she'd felt cast out by the Dark Lord. She'd been thin and anxious after displeasing him. They'd reconciled in his office, making love on his desk. He'd asked her to eat then. Rodolphus was right.

"Crouch," Bellatrix said sharply, glancing down to the white-faced witch on the rug. "I don't think these two actually do know anything about the Dark Lord's disappearance. That does not mean they can't send a strong message to Dumbledore. We'll keep at them until they can't speak, until they don't know their own names. Then we'll dump them on Dumbledore's turf and let him see what the Death Eaters can still do."

She let Rodolphus guide her from the room toward the kitchens. As they walked down the corridor, she heard Couch's voice behind her say in a delighted tone,

"Right, then. Straight to it, eh? Crucio!"

* * *

**April 1982**

**The Ministry of Magic**

Of all the places Bellatrix never expected to be, this was the most unpleasant.

Bound by magical restraints in a chair before the Wizengamot, her wand having been seized by Alastor Moody that night that a crush of Aurors had descended upon Castle Lestrange, Bellatrix was utterly helpless. Yet she kept her chin tipped up defiantly. She and Rodolphus and Rabastan and Barty Crouch, Jr. all sat in a row. They'd been betrayed by Igor Karkaroff regarding the Longbottoms. Others had noted to the court specific deaths and torture sessions for which Bellatrix was responsible. She was guilty of treason, of murder and other despicable acts, according to those assembled.

Bellatrix did not care what they thought. She knew she would rather spend an eternity in Azkaban than to take back anything she had done over the last thirteen years. When the Dark Lord had vanished, most Death Eaters had shown their true colours. They had turned on one another. They'd claimed they'd been Imperiused. They renounced the Dark Lord.

But the quartet now bound into chairs had done no such thing. Bellatrix had never been prouder of her husband and brother-in-law than she was now, now that they had demonstrated undying loyalty. And Barty Crouch, Jr. was utterly defiant, staring down his own father and loudly declaring his allegiance to Lord Voldemort.

"... and therefore, I sentence you all to life in Azkaban Prison," the elder Barty Crouch said. Bellatrix smirked where she sat and said in the most confident voice she'd ever used,

"The Dark Lord will rise again. Throw us into Azkaban, Crouch! We will wait. We will be there waiting for him."

Even as she spoke, she remembered the last night she'd ever seen him, that awful Halloween night when he'd murmured against her lips that he loved her… that she would be there waiting for him when he got back.

Well, Bellatrix thought as she was led from the courtroom in magical shackles, she would be there waiting. She would never accept that he was dead, that he was really gone. So she would wait patiently in a dank, cold cell. She would wait for as long as it took.

She would see him again.

Author's Note: So, obviously, we are about to make our biggest time jump yet. When Voldemort and Bellatrix are reunited, they'll both be so very different than the last time they saw one another. What exactly will that reunion look like?

* * *

**January 1996**

**Malfoy Manor**

"My Lord?" Narcissa Malfoy's meek voice said at the doorway to his old office. "May I enter?"

He nodded, still not accustomed to the odd feel of his new neck. The face he'd been forced to adopt had some features that resembled his old appearance. The skin was white and the hair was gone, but the bone structure was the same. His eyes were a deep scarlet, but they were shaped as they'd always been. He had no real nose anymore, but his lips were the same. His voice was the same.

He glanced down at Nagini, at the mighty snake who held a piece of his soul. He pulled his fingers over her head and willed her to coil at his feet.

Thirteen years, seven months, and twenty-four days. That was how long he'd been exiled. That was how long it had taken from the moment Harry Potter set his own Killing Curse back upon him until he took new form in the graveyard at Little Hangleton.

Twelve years, ten months, and twenty-six days. That was how long he had spent with Bellatrix. That was how long it had been from the first time he'd danced with her at that Christmas party until the last time he left her here, in this very room.

"My Lord," Narcissa said carefully, wringing her hands before her, "We've got her cleaned up. Fed. But she still looks… she doesn't look like herself."

"Neither do I, I suppose," Voldemort mused. He shut his eyes and said, "Send her in. No one else is to even approach this office door."

"Yes, My Lord." Narcissa bowed her head and backed out of the office. They were all so terrified of him now, the ones who had tried to save their own hides in his absence. They were scared he would torture or kill them for their selfishness, and indeed Voldemort had been quick to do so more than once since his resurrection.

Knock, knock, knock.

His new, alien chest clenched strangely at that sound. That was her knock. Those three raps on the door, evenly spaced, had for a long time informed him of the presence of Bellatrix, his most beloved and trusted servant.

The woman to whom he had confessed love on the night of his defeat. Would he still love her now, he wondered? Would she still love him? He moved with strangely fluid motions toward the door, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden at the claw-like appearance of his new hands. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, reckoning that she must look worse than he did. Spending nearly thirteen years entombed in an Azkaban cell had probably ruined her.

Voldemort opened the door to his office, and then all he could do was stare.

She was older, to be certain. There was still a preternatural youthfulness to her wide eyes, her face that couldn't be made ugly even through years of torment. She was thin and her eyes were circled with shadows of exhaustion, illness, and hunger.

She had been downright stubborn when it came to defending him. When they'd tried to tear her apart in court, she'd declared her undying support for him. She had never once, not ever, given up on the idea that he would rise again. That was what everyone said, what everyone knew. There had not been a single Death Eater more loyal to Voldemort in these past awful years than Bellatrix.

She began to cry the moment her eyes met his. At first, Voldemort thought she was distressed by his unnerving appearance, but then he pressed gently into her mind. Jumbled thoughts, far messier and less ordered than the ones she used to have, swirled around. Voldemort parsed through her emotions and read relief, joy, trepidation.

"My Lord," she breathed. "My Master."

She held her hands up as though she wanted to touch him. Then she lowered her shaking fingers and whispered, "I knew you'd come back. I knew it. Please, My Lord. I beg you… put me back into service at once. I must avenge all the -"

"Bella," Voldemort said, this entire reunion feeling awkward and familiar at the same time. He took her elbow gently and pulled her into the office. He closed the door and pushed her carefully against it. He loomed over her, their height difference exaggerated by his new, taller form. He guided his white knuckles over her jaw, and she shivered with delight. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she mumbled,

"All those cold nights in Azkaban, all I wanted was this. You, My Lord. All I wanted was to love and serve you again."

"You were so loyal," he noted, leaning down to press his cold lips to her forehead. "My good girl, after all this time."

"Always, My Lord," she promised, nodding. She opened her eyes and stared up at him. Voldemort could see some of the fine lines stamped by age and stress onto her skin. He could see the strands of grey hair that had worked their way through her black curls. But she was still Bellatrix. She was just a tired, tortured version of the woman he'd left behind all those years ago. He, on the other hand, had become something else entirely. Bellatrix did not seem to notice. She put her hand tentatively to his cheek and whispered,

"Sometimes the Dementors would come by, and I was overwhelmed by the idea of you dead or powerless. It drove me quite mad, My Lord, to think of you like that. But I knew… I always knew you would come back."

"Are you not frightened or disgusted by this new form in which I must dwell?" Voldemort asked, his voice coming out much sharper than he had intended. Bellatrix calmly shook her head and insisted,

"I care nothing for skin or hair or eyes or teeth, My Lord. I only wanted you back. I didn't care how. And you freed me, along with the rest of them, once the Dementors joined your side. So now I am here to serve you again. Please, please, My Lord. Let me serve you again."

"You will," he assured her calmly. "But, first… tell me, Madam Lestrange, would you kiss a wizard who looks the way I do now?"

Bellatrix began to cry again, overcome with his very presence. She nodded frantically and said through her tears, "Oh, yes, My Lord. Yes, I would."

For almost thirteen years, he had tried to remember what she tasted like. It was so very hard not to forget. He'd been less than a spirit at times, wandering forests and drifting around aimlessly. Sometimes a little memory of kissing her would come to him, and for a moment he would understand again what it meant to be human. Then the memory would drift away like smoke in the wind.

Now he didn't need to try to remember. It all came crashing back. It was beautifully familiar, despite the way their forms had both morphed with time. The way their lips pressed together, the way their tongues twined and danced, was new and strange but also just as it had always been. It was at once yesterday and a million years ago since he'd last kissed her. He couldn't stop. He made no attempt to control the way his unfamiliar member went hard between his legs. He made no attempt to stifle the groan he let out against her mouth. He did not keep her spindly fingers from grasping his billowing robes as though she would otherwise fall.

He just kissed her, drinking in this new, embittered, older Bellatrix and loving her more than he had ever done before. She was in her forties now, and he himself would be an old shriveled man even in his previous body. Neither of them were in their physical prime, but none of that mattered now. Voldemort hiked Bellatrix's skirts up as he pressed her against the door. He pulled up his own robes, yanked his new member out and kept himself hidden by the yards of fabric around them. He pulled her up, holding fast to her leather bustier, and drove himself into her as though he'd never left. She tipped her head back and the tears flowed freely from her eyes as she whispered,

"I was so afraid I'd never feel you again, My Lord. I knew… knew I would, but I was still so afraid…"

"Don't be afraid anymore, Bella," he murmured, pressing his lips to her neck and hoping she didn't mind the cold of them. He thrust into her and hummed against her neck. If anyone were walking in the corridor, they would doubtlessly be aware of the way the door banged rhythmically as Bellatrix's body was driven backward. Voldemort did not care in the least. Let them hear the way he could still plunder his most loyal servant. Let them hear the way even this new, wretched body of his was virile and able.

She came quickly, far more quickly than she'd ever done years earlier. In fact, she came so quickly that Voldemort was afraid she was faking it. He pushed into her mind, which was a blinding white, confused mess of bliss. She wasn't faking, he realised. She'd just missed him so much that the slightest feel of him, in whatever form he now took, had driven her to ecstasy. He groaned and pushed hard against her, feeling the old familiar sensations of climax. Tightening, pumping, heat, throbbing, and an overall sense of wellbeing. Some things felt terribly foreign in this new body, but this felt just the same.

"My Lord," Bellatrix mumbled softly as he set her back down. She straightened her skirts and met his scarlet eyes as he tucked himself away. If the new red colour frightened her, she gave no indication. She studied his gaze and her lips curled up. She swiped the tears from her eyes and said in a quiet voice, "I… we… Rabastan and Rodolphus and Barty and I… we searched for you. We drove the Longbottoms to madness; we killed and we searched until they -"

"I know what happened," Voldemort nodded. Abraxas Malfoy had died of dragon pox during his long absence, and countless others had been killed or thrown into prison. But Voldemort's remaining allies had given him a great deal of information about the past thirteen years. Voldemort brushed his cool lips against Bellatrix's ear, noticing how much further he had to bend to reach her now. She shivered a little, and he kissed the skin just below her ear before he murmured, "They told me that you were defiant as they dragged you away. That you cried out to everyone who could hear that I would rise again. That you would wait for me."

"Well, I had no choice, My Lord," Bellatrix said. When he pulled back, surprised, she reminded him, "That night you left, I was standing by that chair just there…" she jerked her chin to the armchair behind Voldemort, "and you told me to wait for you. To wait until you came back. So I did."

He picked up her right hand and studied the bony fourth finger. "They took your ring from you."

"No." She shook her head. "It disappeared when you did, Master. So did the cottage."

Voldemort pinched his lips tightly and sniffed through his new reptilian nostrils. "Well. I shall simply have to procure for you another ring. I shall have to build for you a new cottage. That's all easily done."

"My Lord…" Bellatrix hesitated, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. She was afraid to speak, so Voldemort pushed into her mind. Her Occlumency barriers were up - black churning seas, cliffs that fell forever, doors that led nowhere, windows that opened to vacuous black space. Voldemort pushed through all her mental defences and plucked out the thought that was causing her anguish. Suddenly they were here, in this very office, that Halloween night that he'd lost his body.

"Do you remember, a long time ago… I told you that when all the fighting was done, I would make you mine in every way? That I would give you my heir?"

Bellatrix stared at her lord and master, still so very handsome at nearly fifty-five years of age. She felt tears coming to her eyes at the thought of what he was saying. He would make her his, really and truly. He would give her his child, and she would not lose this one.

"Oh, yes, My Lord. I remember," she nodded. They talked a bit more and he kissed her so feverishly she thought she would faint, and then he whispered words she never in a million years expected to hear him say.

"I love you, Bellatrix."

Voldemort pulled out of her mind and frowned. He stared at her, at the fine lines around her eyes and lips, at the way Azkaban had made her permanently thin and tired. He thought of his own awful new body, and he shook his head as he sighed,

"You are forty-four years of age, Bellatrix. And I… I am not that man that I was all those years ago. It isn't as simple as rutting you on the carpet and putting a child in you. Besides which, you ought to know that things are far more complicated now than they ever were then."

Bellatrix nodded a bit sadly and whispered, "Yes, My Lord. Of course you're right. I'm sorry for… for suggesting…" She swallowed and said in a more confident voice, "I will serve you in whatever manner you need me most."

"My good girl," Voldemort purred, pressing his cold lips to hers again. "Always my good, good girl."

* * *

**18 June 1996**

**Lestrange House, Bath**

"Lestrange, fetch every medical potion you've got in your stores and bring them to her rooms," Voldemort barked. Rodolphus nodded, looking as confused and frustrated as all the rest of them did tonight. He dashed off down a corridor in his brother Rabastan's stately country house. This old family home was where the Lestranges had based themselves after the breakout from Azkaban, and Voldemort did not know it well. He was silently grateful, therefore, that Rodolphus called from behind him,

"Turn left at the end of the corridor, My Lord. Her rooms are the second door on the right."

Voldemort strode forward with Bellatrix cradled unconscious in his arms. She seemed to weigh nothing to at all, and she looked dead to the world. Her face was gaunt and tired, and her legs had been completely crushed by the statue that had fallen on her in the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort had Disapparated just in time, but before he'd gone, he'd grabbed hold of Bellatrix's hand. She had been sloppy; they all had. His own duel with Dumbledore had come dangerously close to failure. The Minister for Magic had seen Voldemort's new body with his own shocked eyes. And the prophecy had been destroyed. It was, all in all, not the finest night Voldemort had ever experienced.

He pushed the door to her room open with wandless, nonverbal magic and stepped inside. Once he'd set her on her bed and pulled her skirts up a bit, he let out a low, irritated hiss. He was glad he'd knocked her out when they'd landed, and now he knew why she'd been screaming in pain. The bones of her legs were utterly shattered where they'd been crushed by the falling Ministry statue. Voldemort checked her robes to ensure she still had her wand. He set it on the table beside the bed and Vanished her shoes and stockings.

Rodolphus Lestrange came dashing into the room, holding a wooden box marked Medical. He opened it on the boudoir across the room from Bellatrix's bed, and Voldemort said in a sharp series of orders,

"Essence of Murtlap. Lots of Dittany. Anodyne Draught."

Rodolphus rummaged through the medical box and pulled out several small bottles. He sounded scared and sorrowful as he said in his newly-strained voice, "Anodyne… I don't see it, My Lord; I don't think we -"

"Accio Anodyne Draught," Voldemort said simply, and a bottle made from purple glass came soaring at him across the room. Voldemort studied the label and said softly to Rodolphus, "This potion has a shelf life of a hundred years. She was given some by a healer more than twenty years ago when she miscarried my child. Bring me the Dittany and the Murtlap Essence, Rodolphus, and leave us be."

"Yes, My Lord." Rodolphus rushed over, handing a few bottles to Voldemort with shaking hands. He scurried out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Voldemort shut his eyes, thinking back over the chaos in the Department of Mysteries. The fire and the water in his own duel with Dumbledore, the poorly-aimed Killing Curse that had set a desk aflame... the way Bellatrix had killed her cousin Sirius and gotten distracted.

"Rennervate," Voldemort murmured reluctantly, knowing that Bellatrix needed to actively swallow the Anodyne Draught. As she slowly roused, he pulled his wand over her crushed, broken legs and said, "Episkey… Curasallo… Reparifors."

She was awake, squeezing the blankets on her bed and trying hard not to yell in pain as her bones healed and the slices in her skin knit themselves back together. Voldemort took the stopper out of the Anodyne Draught and Conjured a spoon from the air. He poured some of the sickly sweet liquid into the spoon and touched it to Bellatrix's lips. He said nothing as he Conjured some cotton wool and began daubing her healing wounds with Essence of Murtlap and Dittany.

"M-My Lord," Bellatrix mumbled, lying back and shutting her eyes as the Anodyne Draught began to sedate her. "I failed you. I was fighting my stupid cousin… I didn't know that the Potter boy had the p-prophecy…"

"Hush, Bella," Voldemort commanded in a voice that felt too aggressive for the context. He watched as her legs seemed to come back to rights, and then he turned his attention to her face. She seemed tormented, her eyes wrenched shut and her lips twisted as though she were about to cry. Voldemort sighed and spooned a bit more Anodyne Draught between her lips. She swallowed it but said in the slurred voice of a drunkard,

"I thought you died when Dumble… when Dumbledore… with the water. I thought… I'd lost you again, Master. I couldn't bear… you were angry with me again, and I… so sorry that…"

"Hush, Bella." Voldemort muttered very quietly. He touched his claw-like fingers to his forehead and huffed out a low breath. He had, indeed, been angry to show up at the Department of Mysteries and find that Bellatrix had focused all her attentions on Sirius Black at the expense of protecting the prophecy. There had been a great many failures tonight, on so many fronts. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore had not only escaped; they now had great credibility within their hideous community.

"So sorry, My… My Lord… I love… please, don't…" She was blathering nonsense now, driven to full sedation by the Anodyne Draught. Suddenly Voldemort had the urge to do something he hadn't done in a great many years. He kicked off his shoes and walked around Bellatrix's bed, lying on his back and urging her to curl up against him. He kissed her forehead and shut his eyes, thinking that after a terrible night like tonight, he could at least lie down for a moment.

He had created his Horcruxes to achieve immortality. But tonight at the Department of Mysteries, he had not felt very immortal. Perhaps, he realised with a little spike of fear, his complex system of tricks to live forever would not work as he'd planned. Perhaps he would die eventually, snuffed out into nothing.

Perhaps he did want an heir, after all.

He brushed his unnaturally cold lips against Bellatrix's cheekbone and wondered if it was possible. Was she too old? Could this ridiculous body of his even give her a child? Did he actually want her removed from combat service long enough to bear him a child?

Yes, he realised suddenly. He would give her his heir, just like he'd promised he would all those years earlier. He had used ancient, powerful magic to render Narcissa Malfoy fertile after years of failed attempts to conceive with her husband. She had birthed a healthy boy - Draco. Surely if the Lord Voldemort of ages past could help Narcissa conceive, he could do the same now for her older sister.

He pulled Bellatrix against him, knowing he'd been cruel and sharp with her in the Department of Mysteries. She'd deserved it, of course; she'd made foolish errors that had ensured Voldemort would never hear the prophecy in its entirety. But he ought to be more gentle with her in the future, perhaps. After all, she would be the mother of his child.

And, he admitted begrudgingly to himself, he did love her.

* * *

**December 1996**

**Malfoy Manor**

"You bled for several days after the spells were cast?" Voldemort asked, pacing before Bellatrix in his rooms at Malfoy Manor. She nodded up at him from the chair where she sat. All those years before, her sister Narcissa had spoken of the Dark Lord using powerful magic to help her conceive Draco. Bellatrix had underestimated the cramping, bleeding, and overall discomfort that ancient magic would inflict upon her. But it was no matter. She would take it all and so very much more to give him his heir.

"And when did the bleeding stop?" Voldemort asked, his tone clinical and distant. Bellatrix cleared her throat and said,

"Ten days ago, My Lord."

He nodded and chewed on his thin lip as he considered aloud, "If you are with child, you will be unable to fight properly. I won't… I can't allow you in the line of fire. You'd be sequestered for quite some time. You understand?"

Bellatrix's stomach clenched a little at that, but she nodded again. "I will serve you in battle, if this war is still on, as soon as I possibly can after giving birth, My Lord."

She'd been fighting as hard as she could for him since he'd returned, since she'd escaped Azkaban. She and Narcissa had convinced Severus Snape to take an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco, to promise to kill Dumbledore in the case that the boy could not. Bellatrix still did not fully trust Snape, but she kept her opinions to herself around the Dark Lord.

"I could simply have you hike up your skirts, touch myself until the very end, and plant my seed within you without much ceremony," Voldemort noted, his steps pausing as he curled his long fingers around the mantle. He quirked up half his pale mouth and tipped his bald head and said, "But there's no fun in that, is there?"

Bellatrix's heart began to race. It had been so very long since she'd actually made love to her master. These past months, there had been a few long sessions of touching and kissing against a wall here and there, but nothing drawn-out like they used to do. She closed her eyes and silently pleaded with him to make it last. If this were the last time she could ever have him like this, all she wanted was for it to go slowly.

"Who said anything about this being the last time?" Voldemort demanded. He gestured toward his bedroom and said in an oily tone, "If you'll join me in here, Madam."

She sprang to her feet, feeling tense and anxious as she followed him into the bedroom. He seemed to perceive this, for he shut the door and pulled her against him, whispering down to her,

"Relax, Bella. It's just you. It's just me. Like the good old days, hm?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded against his chest.

"Now," he said softly, his fingers untying the satin ribbon that ran down her back, "I'm not going to tear your clothes from you the way I used to do. First of all, your sister has quite a nice Christmas party going out there, and I would want to destroy your lovely dress."

He peeled the opened bodice of her black lace and taffeta gown forward. Bellatrix took a step back and helped him pull it off of her, leaving her bare-chested but still in her skirts. Voldemort moved with almost unnaturally fluid motions to lay the bodice neatly upon the velvet bench at the end of his bed. He said nothing as he stood behind her, unhooking the back of her skirt and pushing it down. As Bellatrix shimmied out of her knickers and skirts, she felt her hair behind pushed aside. It had once been shining, a cascade of elegant dark curls. Now it was frizzy and dry with a few grey strands, thanks to Azkaban. If it repulsed the Dark Lord, he gave no indication. He pushed her hair over her shoulders and he kissed Bellatrix between her shoulder blades. She shivered at the cold press of his lips, at the way his sharp fingernails dragged slowly and carefully up her arms. She let out an involuntary little moan, feeling herself go completely wet between her legs.

He'd not taken any Girding Potion in her presence, or any other methods to assist him in doing this. Bellatrix wondered distantly whether his new body could do what he -

"Of course I can," he snapped, whirling Bellatrix's naked body to face him. She stared up at his new snake-like face, suddenly frightened that she'd be punished for her thoughts. But he petted her cheek, then let his hand move down to caress her chest, her waist and her hips. He took her hand in his and mashed it against the front of his robes, where Bellatrix felt a firm lump. Voldemort leaned down and kept a half inch between their lips as he whispered,

"Do you doubt that I could take you whenever I so pleased? Do you not remember, Bella, the way I slammed you against to door of my office when we first met again? I will show you just what this new form can do without the help of any bloody potions."

She was utterly speechless at that. Somehow he was more sensual than ever like this. Perhaps she ought to have been disgusted by the slits he had instead of a proper nose, or by the way his eyes practically glowed red. She wasn't disgusted, because this thin looming figure was still the man she'd loved since before she'd left Hogwarts. She shivered as she watched him slowly - so slowly - unclasp his billowing green robes. He peeled them off, one layer at a time, seeming unselfconscious of the lean white body that was revealed. Bellatrix had never seen all of him, not in this new form. She could not keep from touching his hairless chest, nor from rubbing his sinewy white arms. She swayed a bit where she stood, and he muttered quite firmly,

"Azkaban made you thin and drawn… made you look tired, Bellatrix. But you were in there for me. You served all those years, waiting and crying and starving in a cold cell for me. And so I think now that I find you more beautiful than ever."

Bellatrix tried to choke out something coherent, failed, and found herself wrapped up in a powerful kiss. Her right hand drifted of its own accord between the Dark Lord's legs, and she marveled as her hand wrapped around his member. He was bigger than ever, thicker and longer in a way that Bellatrix couldn't fathom. She stroked at him a bit and he groaned into her mouth. No, she realised quickly. He would need no potion to help with this.

She felt herself being guided to his bed until her backside brushed against the covers. Then he was lifting her up, hoisting her onto the bed and crawling up after her as though he was a lion stalking his prey. He pushed her gently back against the pillows and parted her thighs. She expected to feel him enter her, but instead she felt his spindly fingers rubbing around her soaked entrance. He was being careful not to scratch her with his claw-like fingernails, she could tell. His ruby-coloured eyes bored into hers as he whispered,

"Summagaudens."

That was a spell she hadn't heard from him in many years, and Bellatrix gasped with surprise as she was overtaken by a sudden, powerful climax. All the pressure that had built up within her, years' worth, detonated and shattered. She wrapped her arms around the Dark Lord's hard, unyielding white back as he moved to hover over her. She moaned and thrashed as everything went white-hot and throbbed. Her ears rang, her skin prickled, and she clamped around his fingers erratically. He didn't release the spell, so she was still climaxing when she felt him push himself inside of her. Bellatrix tried and failed to suppress the shriek that came from her lips. She couldn't help but cry out; he was filling her beyond anything she could imagine and all the white her body continued barrelling through an orgasm. Finally,finally the spell wore off, and Bellatrix started to recover. She panted, staring at Lord Voldemort's crimson eyes as he moved above her. He breathed through his parted lips and looked almost as though he was in pain. Every thrust was slow and deep, and at one point his red eyes fluttered shut and he whispered,

"I had forgotten… not entirely, but… I didn't realise how much I'd always enjoyed this."

Bellatrix was surprised to hear him speak like that. Her eyes burned a little as she reached up to hold his sharply angled, chalk-white face. His voice shook as he quickened his thrusts a little and asked,

"Are you not repulsed by the wraith I've become?"

"No," she whispered firmly. "No, My Lord. I adore you, and I know you are powerful now than ever."

"Good girl," he muttered, and then his hips stilled and he growled, wrenching his eyes more tightly shut. He suddenly kissed Bellatrix, so roughly that she struggled to breathe. His cold tongue invaded her mouth as she felt him throbbing inside of her. When at last he pulled away and heaved himself off the bed, he ran his long fingers over his bald head. It was the same motion he'd always used to drag his fingers through his hair, Bellatrix realised. She smiled a little to herself as she lay breathless on the bed. He was still in there, under this new exterior. Her lord and master, the man she loved so dearly. He was still there.

He turned his head at the sound of instrumental music filtering through the walls, and he glanced to the bed as he told Bellatrix,

"Your sister will be offended if you do not make an appearance at her Christmas party. Your nephew Draco is home from school. All our closest friends are here. Get dressed and let us go."

Bellatrix nodded and pulled herself from the bed, silently wishing with all her might that the seed he'd put inside of her would take hold, that his ancient and powerful spells would work.

"There will be a child," Lord Voldemort said confidently. "I can tell."

Bellatrix smiled a little and nodded. She pulled on her undergarments and her skirts, but she needed help lacing up her bodice. Her voice was shy and uncertain as she stood before the fully-clothed Dark Lord and said, "Master, would you mind helping me with the back?"

He silently stood behind her, threading the satin ties that he'd undone earlier. Once he'd put them into a proper bow, he turned Bellatrix around slowly and put his hand to her lower back. Then he threaded his hand through hers and murmured,

"Twenty-eight years ago to the day, I first danced with you in that ballroom out there. Do you remember?"

"My Lord, with all due respect, how could I possibly forget?" Bellatrix whispered. She struggled not to cry as he positioned them into a real dancing position. Slow, elegant string music was slightly audible from the party downstairs. The Dark Lord laughed darkly and noted,

"I was so much more handsome then, wasn't I? With my black hair and my black eyes and my black tuxedo?"

"You've always just been you, My Lord. It was never about a tuxedo." Bellatrix squeezed his hand a bit, and Voldemort shut his eyes. He dragged his sharp new teeth over his bottom lip and said in a voice that sounded slightly strained,

"I need to be down there now. We're in a new rebuilding phase; I have quite a bit of political pandering to do."

He let her hand go and stepped back, and his ruby eyes met hers once more as he said more confidently than ever,

"There will be a child. I can feel that. Go down there now, and I shall follow in a few minutes. We can't walk in there together."

"No, of course not, My Lord," Bellatrix agreed. She bowed her head respectfully and walked out of his bedroom, unable to suppress the tears of joy that spilled from her eyes. She nearly skipped into the Malfoy Manor ballroom. Somehow she managed to measure her steps, to adjust her face into its characteristic scowl, and to appear as the generally unpleasant self that had become familiar to all those at the party.

* * *

September 1997

Malfoy Manor

"That can not be natural. I do not mean to protest unjustly, My Lord, but that can not be natural." Rodolphus paced anxiously as screaming ripped through the doorway and wall. Voldemort raised his eyes to the closed door that led to Bellatrix's bedroom, and he muttered,

"Sit down, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus obeyed, trembling as he sank into an armchair in Bellatrix's parlour. He knitted his hands together and shut his eyes tightly as a fresh cry of pain came from the bedroom. Voldemort pinched his lips and informed Rodolphus Lestrange,

"Females are equipped to deal with the pain of childbirth. There is, in fact, hardly anything more natural. She is more equipped than most to handle the pain."

"But, My Lord," Rodolphus said desperately, "Can't they give her something for the pain?"

"I am very certain that the healer and the midwife are doing everything necessary to keep her and the child safe. Perhaps you ought to go wait somewhere else, Rodolphus."

Voldemort gave Bellatrix's husband a very meaningful look, but Rodolphus just let out a shaky sigh as Bellatrix moaned helplessly from the bedroom.

"It won't be long now," Voldemort said knowingly. He could feel a fresh pulse of life in the ether, and he struggled to keep himself utterly calm where he sat.

There was so much going on in the war just now; very recently the fugitives Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter himself had managed to steal Voldemort's locket Horcrux. If they knew of that one, they knew there were others. Voldemort's faith in his immortality grew less sure by the day. The heir Bellatrix was birthing next door had never felt more necessary.

"I don't know that I ever properly expressed my gratitude, Rodolphus," Voldemort said, trying to take his mind off the sounds and feeling of Bellatrix's labour. Rodolphus raised his light brown eyes to his master, who continued, "You and your brother never once turned your backs on me. The both of you suffered greatly in Azkaban, never considering betrayal as so many others did. You chose many years of awful discomfort, of hunger, of pain, and you did it out of loyalty to me. It is not unnoticed, and it will not go unrewarded. Know that your faithfulness to me will bring you glory beyond measure."

Rodolphus' face lit up a bit, and he nodded. "Thank you, Master."

There was a moment of utter quiet from the bedroom, and both wizards turned to stare at the door for a moment. Then Bellatrix was sobbing, and her voice mingled with the wild first cries of a newborn.

"A girl," Voldemort breathed, for he could feel the child's presence. He flew to his feet, hesitating in front of the door to the bedroom for a moment. He should give her privacy, he thought. Let the healer and midwife clean her up and latch the child and do whatever other dirty work came immediately after a birth. He allowed them twenty minutes, during which time he and Rodolphus simply stared at the floor in silence. After a while, Voldemort could hear the midwife asking Bellatrix if she wanted to nurse or bottle-feed the infant, and Bellatrix's shaking voice replied,

"I'll have to be back in battle soon enough."

"Very well. Not a problem, Madam Lestrange. Here; let me show you how to hold everything just so…"

"Everything's cleaned up. She's been dosed with Hemostatum Potion for the bleeding, and with several potions for the pain. I shall leave now, Madam Lestrange, if you feel quite well in yourself." The old healer was anxious to get out of the bedroom before the Dark Lord came inside, Voldemort knew.

"I do feel very well. Thank you," Bellatrix's voice said. Then she told the midwife, "I shall contact you, Madam, if I have any questions. Otherwise, I do think I am ready for the Dark Lord, if you would be so kind as to request his presence."

"Erm… yes, of course," said the midwife. Voldemort rolled his eyes and opened the door into the bedroom. He came sweeping inside and watched the midwife sink into a low curtsy. He waved his hand dismissively toward the door so that she would leave. Bellatrix smiled weakly at him, her eyes looking more dark and tired than ever. In her arms was a small bundle wrapped in white. There was no sign of a bloody birth; the healer had indeed cleaned everything up. Instead, there was just Bellatrix, propped up on pillows with her daughter cradled in her arms.

"My Lord," she said reverently, angling the bundle in her arms so that he could see the child. "It is a daughter."

"So it is," he said, unsure of what else to say. He stepped up beside the bed and flicked his eyes from Bellatrix's gaunt face to the peacefully sleeping newborn. He asked Bellatrix, "Do you feel all right?"

"I feel… My Lord, I feel more fulfilled in my duty than I ever have before," she said simply. She dragged a trembling knuckle under the little girl's eye, and she asked, "Have you a name you would prefer for her, Master?"

"Do not call me that. Not just now." He reached down and scooped the baby out of Bellatrix's arms. He'd seen a great many infants in his day. He'd killed more than one, and he'd never felt any compunction about it. He'd never felt any real emotion whatsoever toward an infant. Until now. Something tugged at his chest as he studied the little girl's features. He could see that she had Bellatrix's full lips, that she had the shape of his jaw and chin. This was not just any infant; this was his daughter. His heir.

"Delphini," he said confidently, for it was the first name that came to his mind, and so it must be the one meant for her. He swallowed hard and said again, "She'll be called Delphini."

"Does it please you, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. When Voldemort forced his eyes from the infant and looked to her, Bellatrix was swiping tears from her eyes and clarified, "Have I made you proud? Have I made you happy?"

"Beyond measure, Bella," he said simply. He stared at Delphini's face again for a long moment and then handed her back to Bellatrix. He leaned to touch his lips to Bellatrix's clammy forehead, and he murmured, "Yes, Bella. You've made me very happy."

He stood upright and pulled at his robes, overwhelmed by how much human emotion was invading his mind just now. Nagini had coiled up near his feet, and now she raised up and seemed to be studying the new child for herself. Bellatrix laughed a bit and murmured,

"Some parents introduce the new baby to a dog or cat. Well, I never wanted a normal life. Nagini, meet Delphini. Your names rhyme, so I'm quite sure you'll be very good friends."

Voldemort could not help but chuckle under his breath at that. He was struck, suddenly, by how natural Bellatrix looked with the little girl in her arms. He had always thought that motherhood would be an unnatural experience for a warrior like Bella. But here she was, looking serenely fulfilled as she touched Delphini's bottom lip lovingly.

"She's perfect," Bellatrix breathed.

"We will need to arrange for reliable care for her as soon as your body is healed enough to rejoin the war effort. She is not a doll. We are not a picture-perfect family. I am an ascending ruler, and you are my most needed lieutenant. Delphini is my heir. You will find someone to care properly for her so that you can fight with me."

Most women, he reckoned, would have argued or at least felt a profound sadness at the idea of handing over their child to step back into a world of battle. But Bellatrix nodded firmly. She'd known all along that this was the plan.

"Narcissa has already constructed a nursery suite on the second floor, My Lord," she told him. "She'll be cared for here at Malfoy Manor full-time by Hortense Macnair, Lorana Selwyn, and Sidda Travers. Narcissa will check in on her daily and send me regular owls on her progress. When you permit it, I shall visit her."

Voldemort nodded firmly and looked again for a long moment at little Delphini and then back to Bellatrix.

"This," he whispered, "is why it was only ever you who was worthy."

He kissed her firmly on the mouth, and then he touched his lips to Delphini's forehead. As he turned and strode from Bellatrix's bedroom, he said,

"I have many things to do today. I must go. As soon as I've received word that you're well, I shall send for you." He stopped at the door and turned over his shoulder. "Well done, Bellatrix."

She hugged Delphini closer to her chest and tipped her tired face up proudly. "Thank you, My Lord."

* * *

**1 May, 1998**

**Lestrange House**

"Enter."

Bellatrix pushed open the door to the cramped office where the Dark Lord had based himself for the past several weeks. Her sister Narcissa and her husband Lucius were not exactly in the Dark Lord's nearest favour as of late, and so he'd moved to Rabastan Lestrange's home.

He looked utterly exhausted when Bellatrix stepped into the office. In her hands, she clutched a parchment, and her voice shook a bit as she asked,

"My Lord, may I get you any food or drink? Is there anything I can do to -"

"No." He raised his red eyes to her and looked very irritated, as though he was harbouring some terrible suspicion that he would not share with her. These last several months, he'd retreated further and further into the sanctuary of his own mind. He'd become more sharp, more cruel with her than he'd ever been before. Bellatrix chewed her lip and considered simply letting him be. But then he held his skeletal hands up expectantly and snapped, "You came for a reason. What is it?"

Bellatrix glanced down at the parchment in her hands and hesitated. This all seemed very unimportant now. Just moments earlier, it had seemed like the most important thing in the world, but now that she saw the way Voldemort seemed so weary and angry, Bellatrix hesitated. She finally gathered the courage to say,

"My Lord, I received a letter from Narcissa a few hours ago. About… about Delphi."

Voldemort said nothing, and he just shrugged. Finally he prompted Bellatrix, his voice cracking just a bit, "And?"

Now Bellatrix felt very silly indeed. She swallowed hard and said, "She had a cold last week, but is feeling much better now. She is in very good hands, My Lord. They got a healer for her quickly, and..."

Voldemort shut his eyes, rubbed at his temples, and sighed deeply. "You wish to go see her."

Bellatrix opened her mouth and tried to find the right words. Before she could, Voldemort said sharply,

"You're no good to me distracted, and I need you in top form. Something very big is about to happen, I believe. You have exactly two hours. Go to Malfoy Manor. Sing the child a song, kiss her cheeks, play with her… do whatever it is mothers are meant to do to show affection to an infant. Two hours, Bellatrix, and then you're back here. Am I understood?"

Bellatrix nodded gratefully and felt her eyes well. "I will hurry, My Lord," she said. She turned to go from his office. Just before she walked over the threshold, she heard him speak in a tone so uncertain that it frightened Bellatrix to her core.

"Give her… give her a kiss from her father, will you?"

Bellatrix turned back and nodded, feeling quite worried now. "I will, My Lord."

At Malfoy Manor, the atmosphere was at once tense and depressed. There was no happiness at all in the home these days, not since Harry Potter and the remaining allies of Dumbledore had started proving themselves to present serious problems. Everything ought to be good these days - Snape was headmaster of Hogwarts, the Carrows were there as teachers, the Ministry had been infiltrated from bottom to top. But so long as Harry Potter lived, Bellatrix knew, Lord Voldemort would never be able to truly reign. It didn't help that Narcissa and Lucius had fallen so deeply out of favour.

"Madam Lestrange," said grey-haired Hortense Macnair as Bellatrix strode down the second-floor corridor. She was coming out of Delphini's nursery suite. Hortense smiled tightly and said, "Delphini is doing quite well. I've just finished my shift and handed her over for the day to Sidda Travers. Sidda is so very good at playing and mealtimes. I'm sure the little dear will be happy to see her mother."

"I'm afraid I must make this visit very quick, Madam Macnair. Thank you for caring for her." Bellatrix and Hortense Macnair nodded their mutual respect, and Bellatrix pushed the door to the nursery suite open.

Narcissa had done well with the decorations in here. It was lighter, brighter, and more airy than the rest of the dour manor. Delphini had a play room full of all sorts of magical toys, books, and even simple wooden blocks. There was a bathroom with a claw foot tub and a large dressing area. The bedroom had a circular wooden crib around which a lacy white curtain fell. It all had quite a regal appearance, which seemed fitting for the daughter of the Dark Lord himself.

"Oh, Delphi. Look who's here! It's Mummy! Mummy's come to visit you!" Sidda Travers, a pimple-faced but sweet witch who had recently graduated Hogwarts, lifted Delphini off the ground and held her just so on her hip. Sidda grinned widely as she approached Bellatrix, handing Delphini over at once.

Bellatrix smiled a bit when Delphini pointed her finger at Bellatrix's hair. A few curls lifted into the air, straightened, and then kinked neatly up again. Sidda Travers laughed and said,

"She shows so much magical aptitude already, Madam Lestrange."

"Well, of course she does," Bellatrix mused. It wasn't as though the great Lord Voldemort would spawn a Squib.

She held Delphini close and breathed in the pleasant powdery scent of her. Delphini was nearly eight months of age now. She'd been so much smaller the last time Bellatrix had seen her. She felt heavier in Bellatrix's arms, and she seemed far more alert than she'd been.

"Mama!" Delphini exclaimed, pointing at Bellatrix's face. Bellatrix's eyes went wide with wonder. She turned to Sidda Travers, who proudly declared,

"We show her your photograph every single day. It was her first real word. She only says it when she sees you, Madam Lestrange."

"Yes. It's me. It's Mama, Delphi," Bellatrix choked out, smiling and feeling abruptly more maternal than usual. Then she kissed Delphini's forehead and said softly, "That's from your father."

She played with Delphini for a while, stacking blocks and helping her rock on a stuffed unicorn. Delphini tossed a few balls at the wall, grinning at Bellatrix with a single-toothed smile. Bellatrix knew her time was running out, and when Delphini yawned a few times, she took advantage of the opportunity to ask Sidda Travers,

"Is she due for a nap?"

"She is, Madam," Sidda nodded. Bellatrix felt a strange twist in her stomach when she kissed Delphini's cheeks and handed her back to Sidda.

"Thank you for caring for her," Bellatrix said to Sidda, just as she'd done to Hortense Macnair. Bellatrix saw the wide dark eyes in her daughter, the ones that mirrored her master in his younger days. She sniffed lightly and told Sidda, "Her father and I deeply appreciate her being cared for so well during the war. I… I look forward to when I can care for her full-time myself."

"Of course, Madam Lestrange," Sidda Travers said. Bellatrix forced one more smile at Delphini and said,

"I'll see you soon, darling."

"Mama? Bye! Bye-bye, Mama!" Delphini waved and elicited laughter from both Sidda and Bellatrix.

She made it back to Lestrange House with only three minutes to spare before the end of the two-hour limit she'd been given by the Dark Lord. As she walked through the garden up to the front door, her left forearm began to sear. Bellatrix paused and looked at her Dark Mark, which had blackened and become painful. Suddenly, all around her, others began Apparating onto the grounds outside the house. Bellatrix felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as more and more Death Eaters appeared. He'd summoned them all. Something terrible was happening.

The Dark Lord himself came walking briskly out of the front doors of the house, trailed by Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. He began explaining that Harry Potter was at Hogwarts. He began explaining a plan for battle. It was going to end tonight, he told them all. Harry Potter would die tonight.

* * *

**2 May 1998**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

"My Lord, let me -"

"I do not require assistance." Voldemort shoved Bellatrix away. He had no time to deal with her simpering emotions just now. Harry Potter was either dead, destroyed, or he remained a threat to Voldemort's immortality. Voldemort pulled himself to his feet in the clearing and asked sharply, "The boy. Is he dead?"

Nobody answered. Everyone just stared. All his Death Eaters, unsure of whether or not the strange happenings tonight meant victory for their master, just stared at the quiet, unmoving form of Harry Potter. Voldemort snarled in anger and pointed his wand at Narcissa Malfoy.

"You," he said, casting a nonverbal flipendo that sent Narcissa crashing backward with a shriek. He waited for her to pull herself to her pitiful knees, and he sneered, "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

Narcissa Malfoy staggered over to Harry Potter. Beside him, Voldemort could tell Bellatrix wanted nothing more than information, nothing more than to help. He willed her to be still and silent now.

"He is dead!" Narcissa cried after a long moment. Voldemort considered entering her mind to see whether she was lying, but his Death Eaters were already casting curses and magical fireworks into the sky in celebration. More than one Dark Mark shimmered green upon the night sky that blanketed the forest. So Voldemort simply helped them celebrate for a moment, and then he humiliated the old, bumbling half-giant Hagrid by commanding him to carry Potter's corpse back to the castle. Bellatrix lifted Potter's gold glasses off the mossy ground and shoved them roughly onto the boy's motionless face. One round lens was cracked, which seemed quite fitting.

Hagrid was too busy blubbering like a fool to obey orders, so Voldemort Imperiused him and barked, "Move!"

There was quite a bit of verbal conflict between the centaurs and all the wizards present. Hagrid yelled at them for not protecting Potter; the Death Eaters sneered insults at the centaurs. Voldemort had no time for any of this, either.

"Stop," he commanded Hagrid, who had no choice but to obey.

Voldemort passed by Hagrid and touched the Elder Wand to his throat, murmuring sonorus before his magically amplified voice echoed over the grounds with his conditions.

""Harry Potter is dead," Voldemort informed all those inside the castle. "He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

He turned back to look at Hagrid, who held the corpse of Harry Potter, and at his parade of Death Eaters, all of whom grinned maniacally. All except Bellatrix, who seemed to sense that until the other side surrendered unconditionally, there was no victory. Voldemort turned back to face the castle. His voice boomed,

"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anybody who continues to resist - man, woman, or child - will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

Nothing.

There was nothing. No cheers, no blasts of magical light. Just silence.

"Come," Voldemort said, starting his barefoot trek up to the castle. Nagini slithered up onto his shoulders, and he felt a small swell of strength as part of his own soul embraced him. Bellatrix trotted to keep up with him, and she whispered in a breathless voice beside him,

"You will conquer them all, My Lord."

"Yes," he answered her, sounding cold to his own ears. There was no space in battle for sentimentality. When they finally neared the castle, Minerva McGonagall emerged from the heavy double doors, her face tear-streaked and her hair a mess. She fell to her knees for a moment before hurrying to stand. At first she seemed unable to breathe, and then she finally cried in an anguished bellow,

"NO!"

Bellatrix laughed from beside Voldemort. She cackled, seeming to delight in McGonagall's melodramatic grief. Voldemort stroked Nagini's head as more people appeared and took in the sight of Hagrid holding Potter's dead body. They all reacted similarly to how McGonagall had done, and Bellatrix laughed at them all. Voldemort grew bored with the insults and moans after a moment.

"Silence!" he yelled at last. He cast a nonverbal Silencio that snuffed out all the voices with a mighty band. He turned to face the miserable half-giant behind him and said in a taunting voice, "It's over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"

Hagrid obeyed. Voldemort paced back and forth before Potter's body and said in a calm, almost parental tone,

"Harry Potter is dead. Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him."

"He beat you!" cried the ginger-haired boy, Ronald Weasley. He'd managed to break the silencing spell, and all of a sudden there were a great many foul words being thrown at the Death Eaters.

Silencio Trio! Voldemort thought, and a bang like a bomb bound together all the lips around him. He paused his pacing and said more calmly than ever,

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds. Killed trying to save himself..."

He stopped then, for a rather unfortunate-looking, gangly young man had come barreling out of the crowd in an idiot attempt to charge the Dark Lord himself.

Expelliarmus, he thought, and the misguided young wizard toppled to the ground as his wand soared into Voldemort's hand. Voldemort threw the wand aside and stared at the homely boy on the grass.

"And who is this?" he asked, feeling amused. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix's laugh was more amused than ever. When he met her eyes, he pressed into her mind and saw a memory of Bellatrix casting endless Cruciatus Curses at a pale-haired woman. It was after Voldemort's disappearance. Voldemort suddenly understood, but Bellatrix spoke anyway.

"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes. I remember," Voldemort said, feigning revelation. The Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom had defied and evaded him prior to that awful Halloween night, until Bellatrix, Rabastan, Barty Crouch, Jr., and Rodolphus had spent weeks torturing them into oblivion. This boy, defiant as his parents and just as irritating, was Neville. The boy had staggered back up to his feet, his bare hands clenched at his sides. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and decided to try a tactic that had served him well in recruitment over the last several decades.

"But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?"

"So what if I am?" Neville Longbottom spat. Voldemort kept his face calm and his voice almost gentle.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

The boy's face twisted into an ugly expression, and he cried out, "I'll join you when Hell freezes over. Dumbledore's Army!"

The crowd behind him let out a roar of approval that broke the silencing charms. Voldemort rolled his eyes, now feeling genuinely annoyed and beyond the point of negotiation.

"If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head be it." He aimed the Elder Wand up to the school building and thought Accio Sorting Hat.

After a moment the old, ragged leather thing came fluttering out of the main doors as though it were a bird trying to fly with a broken wing.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School," Voldemort informed the students. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

The Sorting Hat settled itself on Neville's head. Voldemort nonverbally rooted his feet to the ground and immobilised his arms. Then he told those assembled, in a taunting voice,

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me."

Incendio, he thought, flicking his wand at the hat. It erupted into flames, which caught onto Neville's hair. Beside Voldemort, Bellatrix was cackling madly again, and her laughter clashed with the screams and protests of those behind Neville.

* * *

**2 May 1998**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Suddenly chaos erupted. Everything was happening at once. Voldemort's giants were clashing with Hagrid's half-brother Grawp. Arrows began flying through the air - cast by centaurs, Voldemort knew. His Death Eaters panicked as the arrows fell about them. Then the Longbottom boy broke free of the curses binding his body, stepping away from the flaming Sorting Hat. There was something silver, something glinting in his hand. Nagini slithered forward quickly, acting on instinct to protect her master.

Before Voldemort could process what was happening, Neville Longbottom had raised the Sword of Gryffindor and had used it to hack poor Nagini's head clean off. At once, an awful crumpling demolished part of Voldemort. He felt his soul tear, felt unbearable pain rip him through, and he screamed. No sound came out, but he screamed just the same.

All of a sudden, there was no order. There were witches and wizards desperately fleeing the trampling steps of the giants. Someone was yelling, asking where Harry was, and Voldemort looked to see that the boy's corpse had disappeared from Hagrid's arms.

"Yaxley! Find Potter's body!" Voldemort yelled, backing into the Great Hall among the chaos. He spotted a very young witch to his left wearing Gryffindor robes, and he pointed his wand at her and impulsively called, "Avada Kedavra!"

The witch fell, and all of a sudden the hall was being overrun with friends, family members, and allies of Voldemort's enemies. It was all-out battle as duels broke out all around him. He saw Avery dodging spells cast by a shopkeep from Hogsmeade, and Voldemort cast a quick Killing Curse to free Avery up. It was just in time, for a swarm of house-elves had come dashing into the hall bearing cleavers and knives. At the front of the swarm was Kreacher, the house-elf Voldemort had used to test the Inferi and other protections he'd made decades earlier to protect his Horcrux. Kreacher was yelling about avenging Regulus Black, and Voldemort curled up his lip in disgusted anger. He became more angry than ever when he saw a house-elf take a cleaver to the leg of Magnus Nott.

"Confringo!" Voldemort yelled, jabbing his wand at a cluster of house-elves. They burst into flames, flying backward, their little voices shrieking as they burned to death.

"Crucio!" Voldemort heard Bellatrix's voice scream. He glanced over to see her facing three young witches at once: Hermione Granger, the daughter of the insane Lovegood man, and Ginevra Weasley. Bellatrix was holding them all off, unafraid of killing them. Voldemort decided to let her show her mettle now, for he had many others who could not fend for themselves. Tiny Filius Flitwick took out Antonin Dolohov. Hagrid threw Macnair so hard against a wall that Voldemort knew the man was dead.

"Avada -"

"No!" Voldemort whirled hard to his right, descending out of the way of the Killing Curse sent at him by Kingsley Shacklebolt. When he rose back up a few steps to the side, he realised he was facing down Shacklebolt, along with Minerva McGonagall and Horace Slughorn. He blocked their attempted Stunning Spells, their spells meant to take off his limbs, with ease. He immediately threw Cruciatus and Killing Curses back at them, which they dodged expertly. Voldemort actually met Horace Slughorn's eyes for a half second and remembered the way the man had first informed him about Horcruxes.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort hissed at Slughorn, but the man quickly leapt out of place with dexterity not usually possessed by a man his age.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" screamed a voice to Voldemort's left. He flicked his attention there for a moment to see that Molly Weasley was aiming a shaking wand at Bellatrix, who laughed as she dodged Molly Weasley's curses.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" Bellatrix taunted. "When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"

Fred. One of the Weasley twins. She'd probably killed a great many so far tonight, but there was no rage quite like a mother's. Voldemort felt an odd twinge of worry that perhaps Bellatrix had gotten herself in too deep. He glanced around the Great Hall and realised nearly all his Death Eaters were gone. It was just him and Bellatrix now, really.

"Stupefy!" cried Minerva McGonagall, but Voldemort blocked her spell so expertly that he sent it hurtling back toward the old witch. She managed to block most of the rebound, but she did stumble backward, which distracted Shacklebolt and Slughorn for a split second as they helped her up.

"You will never touch our children again!" Molly Weasley shrieked, and there was a flash of blinding green light.

There was a half second in which Bellatrix's malicious laugh turned to an expression of shock, as though she could not believe she were being brought down by Molly Weasley of all people. The Killing Curse hit her square in the chest.

"No," Voldemort whispered, nonverbally parrying a spell hurled at him by Kingsley Shacklebolt. His eyes stayed locked on Bellatrix, and he watched as she collapsed silently in death.

He cried out on impulse, his rage and grief manifesting as a deafening, echoing roar that shattered nearly all the windows in the hall. She was dead. She was gone. The only person who had ever actually, really, truly mattered to him, murdered here before him. Voldemort aimed the Elder Wand at Molly Weasley, struggling for a half second too long to verbalise the words of the Killing Curse through his anger.

"Protego!" cried a voice, and out of nowhere, the very-much-not-dead form of Harry Potter appeared.

Everything that happened after that was a blur, a dizzying exchange of taunts about love and immortality there in the Great Hall. He taunted Harry Potter about Dumbledore, who answered that Severus Snape had never been Voldemort's at all. He was told that he was betrayed by Draco and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He was told that he was weak, that he was pathetic. Voldemort fought back with his words, but in the end he and Potter came wand-to-wand once more. The stupid boy cast a Disarming spell at him, but he managed to seize the Elder Wand from Voldemort's own hand.

And then the green light of his own Killing Curse, the green that had always been his very favourite colour, surrounded him like an embrace.

And then there was nothing.

There was black, and cold, and quiet.

Until Voldemort opened his eyes and found himself in the middle of a rainy, dark forest.

* * *

When Molly Weasley's Killing Curse had hit Bellatrix's chest, she'd had a split second between the realisation of impending death and actually dying. In that split second, Bellatrix had managed to think of a great number of things. She had thought of the first night she'd danced with the Dark Lord, when he'd told her she would do great things for him. She'd remembered the times he'd called her his most loyal servant, his most able soldier, his best lieutenant. She remembered the sound of his whisper, astonished with himself, when he'd confessed that he loved her. She thought of being heavily pregnant and feeling Delphini stirring within her. She remembered the first time she'd heard Delphi cry, the last time she'd seen her baby. The sound of the child's voice calling her Mama. The sight of Voldemort's red eyes as she'd left his little office.

Then Bellatrix had died. She knew it to be true, because she knew that shade of green light so very well. She knew that the Killing Curse was not reversible, that it couldn't be blocked. And so when the black and quiet and cold took her over, Bellatrix knew that she was dead, that she would never see her daughter or the Dark Lord again.

Somehow, though, she opened her eyes. She woke up.

She was in a forest, cloaked in inky black night but recognisable by the feel of moss and sticks beneath her hands. Bellatrix fumbled in her robes and felt her wand there.

"Lumos," she whispered, and her wand emitted a blue glow that showed her towering trees and boulders. This place felt familiar, Bellatrix realised at once. So very familiar. She smelled wood burning, as if someone had a campfire or a fireplace nearby. Bellatrix's heart began to race, and she distantly wondered how that was possible if she was dead. She scrambled to her feet, clamoring over fallen logs, over large stones, up the hill.

Then she saw it, sitting there as though it had never left. Capella Cottage. It was there, up on the hill, with the dull glow of firelight visible through the window and a steady stream of smoke coming from its squat chimney. Bellatrix gasped and sprinted toward the cottage, afraid it would disappear before her eyes. She was dead, after all. This couldn't be real.

But the brass handle on the red door felt cold and real beneath her hands. She pushed her way inside, her mouth falling open as she realised it was exactly as it had been before the Dark Lord's first fall. She glanced down to see an elegant velvet dress upon a form that felt more shapely, more youthful than the one she'd had in the battle at Hogwarts. Bellatrix scrambled up the stairs to the loft, lighting the lamp on the wall and studying herself in the full-length mirror.

Her fingers flew to her face, which appeared to be perhaps twenty-five years of age. Her curls tumbled neat and shiny around her, and her body was firm and curvaceous as it had once been. She was in her prime. She was dead, she knew, and in whatever strange afterlife she'd stumbled upon, she was young again.

Bellatrix shut her eyes and hoped with all her might that her lord and master had survived the battle. She hoped with all her might that her daughter would be kept safe. But for now, all she could do was to make her way back down the stairs, thinking that if there was ever such a thing as Heaven, hers must be here in the cottage Voldemort had made for her. She scanned a bookshelf and pulled out a thick leather tome that seemed intriguing. She opened it and read the cover page.

To Live, To Die, To Live Again: Stories of the Afterlife in Wizarding Lore.

Bellatrix snorted out a sardonic laugh. Some force beyond her reckoning was commanding her to read this book. She went to the kitchen and made herself a little cup of tea, and she sank down into a chair before the fire with the book. She thought of Delphi, of the Dark Lord, and she read.

After about an hour and a half, she heard rustling outside the cottage. She was dead, she knew, and there wasn't anything that could kill her now. Still, on instinct, she picked up her wand and stood from the chair, cautiously starting toward the door. It burst open and Bellatrix resisted the urge to raise her wand. In fact, she dropped the wand, sending it clattering to the floor, once her mind processed the figure that had stepped over the threshold.

It was him. It was the man she'd always loved, through all the dark times and the torture and the killing. They'd never really had anyone but each other, and now they stood in the home he'd build for them long ago.

He was younger, too; he looked perhaps fifty. He was handsome and striking, taking the full human form he'd lost that Halloween in 1981. Now he shut the door behind him and looked around before turning his black eyes to Bellatrix. He nodded, indicating that he understood what all this meant.

"I was wrong," he said suddenly, stepping into the parlour and crushing Bellatrix's mouth with a fierce kiss. She drank him in, holding onto his arms and wondering what he meant. When he finally pulled away, he whispered, "I thought there was no fate worse than death. I spent decades fighting it, fighting the idea of dying. If I'd only known it would be this… what a fool I was."

"None of it matters now, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted. She went breathless as he brought her right hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, and it was only then that Bellatrix saw it - the ring. The emerald ring that he'd had made for her, that he'd charmed to bind her to him. The beautiful ring she'd worn for years, the one that disappeared with him that terrible Halloween. There it was, right there on her finger.

Suddenly Bellatrix couldn't bring herself to care that she was dead. She was with him - perhaps forever - and there was nothing in all the universe that mattered more than that.

**\- THE END -**


End file.
